


Knives and Knuckles

by A_Heckin_Bird



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Action & Romance, Alcohol, Bodyguard, Drugs, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Guns and violence, I'm Sorry, M/M, Mutual Pining, Otabek is 23, Russian Mafia, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Yuri is 20, Yuri is the bodyguard, and otabek looks hot in a suit, because I want Yuri to stab people, like reeaaally slow, otabek is the rich mafia heir, will add more tags when shit gets real, you know mafia shit, you might give up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-03-26 19:35:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19012462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Heckin_Bird/pseuds/A_Heckin_Bird
Summary: Now with an actual titleI hope no one's sick of Mafia AU's coz here comes another one.Yuri Plisetsky's streetname is "The Russian Tiger" (I know but I couldn't resist) and he is the assigned chaperone of Otabek Altin, the heir of the Almaty Bratva who is visiting St P's. Will they fall in love? Yes.





	1. The Visitors From Kazakhstan

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this sitting around for months and I haven't touched it because due to technical fuckery I lost an entire chapter and I was too depressed to write it all again.  
> I don't even know if I'll continue after this but if one (1) person says a nice thing it miiiiiight be worth it.  
> P.S. This is my first time posting a fic and i hate the formatting oh my goddd

 

Yuri stood across the street from the grand hotel. It was late Autumn in St Petersburg, and the air was cold and crisp. The grey clouds above threatened to rain for the fifth time that day. Yuri turned his head to face the wind so that his hair would not be blown across his face as he finished his cigarette. He knew he was late, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Besides, he wanted to put off whatever bullshit Viktor had in store for him for as long as possible. After drawing in the very last of his spent cigarette he loudly sighed out a lungful of smoke as he flicked it off to his side. Unable to come up with any excuse to continue standing out in the cold, he tucked his hands into his jacket pockets and crossed the street to the hotel.  
Viktor was standing by the reception desk with his back to the door as Yuri entered the lobby. He was tapping his foot impatiently as he leaned on his designer cane, and checking a very expensive watch that was peeking out from under the sleeve of a very expensive suit. As the door closed behind him, Viktor whipped around.  
“Yuri, you’re la- YURI! What are you wearing?!” Viktor gestured at Yuri’s outfit with great dismay.  
Yuri looked down at his sneakers, his grey jeans and his old, ill-fitting leather jacket covered in decorative patches. “What? It’s what I always wear.”  
Viktor pouted. “You were supposed to dress nice today.” He sighed, and placed a finger over his lips. “Maybe I can find you a suit? No, no, there’s no time. At least take off that jacket.” Yuri rolled his eyes as he unzipped his jacket, stopping abruptly half-way as Viktor gasped in horror. “Oh good lord Yuri that shirt is horrendous” he whispered, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one had seen the garishly bright orange tank-top covered in tiger stripes.  
“Fuck you, it’s awesome.” Yuri declared in defiance. Viktor pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Whatever. Just… zip your jacket back up. All the way. Now come on, she’s been waiting.”  
Viktor marched over to the nearest elevator, carrying himself with grace and dignity with Yuri moping close behind. As they were ascending to the top floor, Yuri pulled his phone out of his pocket to turn it back on. Now that he was here he didn’t have any calls to ignore. “So, what exactly am I doing today?” He asked. Viktor plucked the phone from out of Yuri’s hand and tucked it into his own breast pocket, unfazed by Yuri’s scowling and glaring. “The first thing you’re doing is politely introducing yourself to Ms Altin. You will refer to her as Madam, you will only speak when spoken to, and when you do you will not cuss under any circumstances.”  
“Uh huh. And the kid I’m babysitting?” Yuri asked, with no attempt to hide his disdain. Viktor sighed. He did that a lot when Yuri was around. “He’s not a kid, Yuri. He’s older than you.”  
“Then what the fuck does he need me for?” Yuri muttered. Viktor sighed again. As they stepped out of the elevator, Viktor placed a hand on Yuri’s shoulder to stop him.  
“Yuri…” He instinctively looked down to speak to Yuri, then raised his head again so they were eye to eye. He still wasn’t used to Yuri being almost as tall as him. “I know you haven’t done this sort of thing before, all this etiquette and elbow rubbing with the higher ups,”  
“Sure I have,” Yuri interjected. “Remember the card game?”  
Viktor rolled his eyes. “That was a disaster. You killed two people.”  
Yuri smirked. “They were cheating, Viktor. Everyone knows what we do to cheaters.” Yuri stepped away from Viktor and continued down the hallway.  
“True, but did you have to kill them at the table?” Viktor asked, following him. It was a challenge to keep up with him given Yuri’s long stride and Viktor’s limp. “You ruined one of my favourite suits.”  
Yuri shrugged. “I had to set an example.”  
“Yes, well, this is exactly the sort of behaviour I want you to avoid today.” Said Viktor.  
Yuri scoffed. “Don’t worry, I won’t kill your precious Kazakhs.” Viktor stopped Yuri by hooking his cane over his shoulder and spinning him around, then placed both his hands on his shoulders.  
“Yuri, listen. I want you to use this experience as an opportunity. You can increase your rank, become more influential within the bratva.” Yuri rolled his eyes.  
“You don’t give up, do you? I told you I don’t want that. I’m fine where I am.”  
“But you’re not!” Viktor said, squeezing Yuri’s shoulders tighter. The handle of the cane dug uncomfortably into Yuri’s collarbone. “You’re strong, and intelligent, and determined. I need you at the top. You’re wasting your talents as a common street thug.”  
Yuri scowled. “No, wasting my talents would be sitting around in a suit drinking overpriced whiskey every day.”  
Viktor sighed and released Yuri’s shoulders, resting his hands on the jewelled top of his cane instead. “We can have this talk again later. Look. Ms Altin requested you, personally. Because you are the best, and everyone knows it.”  
Yuri tilted his head and nodded. “Yeah, that’s true.”  
“Be serious, Yuri. I know this seems like a simple task, but I need you to give it 110%. Right now you’re representing the St Petersburg bratva. You’re representing me. You’re the best of the best, and we don’t want Kazakhstan thinking our best is…” Viktor paused, as he thought of a delicate way to say what he had to say. “...unsuitable for such praise.”  
“That’s a nice way of saying ‘a rude, loudmouthed asshole’” said Yuri, as he proceeded around the corner. Viktor walked after him.  
“Yuri, just promise me, no cussing, scowling, threats or violence.” Viktor counted out the list on his fingers.  
“Viktor, that’s my entire personality.”  
“Yuri. Promise me.”  
Yuri sighed. “Yeah, fine. I promise.”  
“Thank you, Yuri!” Viktor cried, sweeping Yuri into a surprise hug.  
“Gross, cut it out! I get it!” Yuri managed to wriggle free of Viktor’s embrace. “Geez. I mean it’s only for… wait, how long are they staying again?” He asked.  
“A month.” Viktor said bluntly, as he continued down the hallway.  
“A month!? What the f-“  
“Shh.” Viktor placed a finger on Yuri’s lips to silence him. “Now, straighten up. Shoulders back. Hair out of your face. There. Okay, let’s go.”  
They reached the end of the hallway, where there was a door guarded by two men. As they approached, Viktor nodded ever so slightly. One of the guards nodded in response, then knocked on the door. A third guard opened the door from within the room, standing aside to allow Viktor and Yuri to enter.  
Yuri never failed to be impressed by the size and grandeur of the penthouse suite. It was extravagant, without being garish. It was embellished with furniture and décor straight out of the baroque period. All the tapestries, cushions and coverings had been specifically chosen to match the colours of the Kazakh flag; teal and gold, in an effort to impress their guests. Yuri stifled a chuckle. Nice touch, he thought to himself.  
Off to the side of the room, a middle-aged woman sat in a window seat, dressed in a beautiful traditional Kazakh gown in navy blue, and a matching hijab embellished with gold embroidery. She was contentedly watching the street below and enjoying a cup of tea served from a very expensive tea set. She did not turn to look at her visitors as they entered.  
Viktor bowed respectfully as he greeted her. “Ms Altin, I am incredibly sorry to have kept you waiting so long.”  
“Not at all, Mr Nikiforov.” Her voice was deep and smooth. She turned and gently placed her tea cup on the small table beside her. “A man of your power and stature is more than deserving of my patience. Please, come and sit.” She gestured at the two gilded chairs pointed towards her.  
He had only seen her for twenty seconds, but from her few words and movements Yuri decided she was the most poised and graceful woman he had ever seen. She seemed so gentle. She could have been anyone’s mother. She was not exactly what Yuri had been expecting, based on what he’d been told about her. Ms Gulaisha Altin, who had only been in power over the Almaty Bratva for about two years, and yet in that time had made the local mafia the most profitable and powerful it had ever been. She Basically owned one fifth of Kazakhstan. She inherited her position from her late husband, who had died under mysteriously foul circumstances.  
As Yuri walked to his seat, she did not take her eyes off him. Nor did he take his eyes off her. Her gently lined face and smile were full of motherly wisdom, but her dark, sharp eyes betrayed a ruthless cunning, and Yuri couldn’t help but to respect her. As Yuri sat down (upright, shoulders back), she looked him up and down, assessing him.  
Before he sat down, Viktor realised that introductions were probably in order. “Ms Altin, this is my good friend Yuri Plisetsky, whom we spoke of earlier.”  
Ms Altin folded her hands neatly in her lap as she gazed intently upon Yuri. “So, this is the infamous Tiger of Russia?” Though she was looking at him, Yuri felt the remark was not directed at him and wasn’t sure whether to speak or not.  
“The one and only!” Viktor chimed in. “He has a violent reputation, but he is most capable and dependable. We are very proud of him.”  
It took all of Yuri’s concentration to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Ms Altin did not break her gaze. “He’s very handsome,” she remarked. “His hair is too long though. And he’s far too skinny. And those clothes are appalling. Do you not pay him enough to feed and groom himself? Or does he spend all his money on those ghastly tattoos?”  
Yuri simply blinked, then slowly turned his head towards Viktor, whose head was hung in dismay. “Ms Altin, please forgive Mr Plisetsky’s state of undress. It is a calculated aesthetic decision he has made to help him blend in in his line of work. I advised him to dress more formally today but I am sure he has his reasons for choosing otherwise.”  
Ms Altin still hadn’t taken her eyes off of Yuri. “Can you speak for yourself young man? Or has Mr Nikiforov ordered you not to?”  
Yuri closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I reserve my words for the most crucial of moments, madam.” Both he and Viktor were impressed by how calmly he delivered that bold-faced lie. Ms Altin seemed to approve as well.  
“Word of your prowess has reached far and wide, Mr Plisetsky. Even in my humble country. Though obviously, it is foolish to believe every rumour you hear. And I must say, some of the stories I’ve heard are quite terrifying. Is it true that the Tiger of Russia has killed a man using only his teeth?”  
Yuri’s lips twitched at the corners as he suppressed a smirk. “Yes, madam.”  
“Hmm.” There was a brief silence as she pondered. “How worrisome. I’d hate to leave my son in the care of a violent psychopath.” As she said this she turned to look at Viktor, as if silently demanding an explanation from him.  
“Ah. Well, you see…” Viktor waved his hands around as he calculated his reply. Yuri decided to take matters into his own hands.  
“If I’m not mistaken madam, you asked Viktor for his best man, and that’s me.” Both Viktor and Ms Altin turned to Yuri as he said this. “Or do you doubt the judgement of the Don?”  
“Yura, please.” Viktor frowned at him.  
Ms Altin furrowed her brow ever so slightly. “When it comes to the bratva, my loyalty is unquestionable. But when it comes to my own family, I prefer to make my own judgement of what is best. You do not seem the kind of man to be so easily kept in line, but Mr Nikiforov here insists otherwise. I have no reason to doubt him, but it will take more than faith to keep my son safe. So, what are you Mr Plisetsky? Are you a loyal watchdog? Or a mindless killer?”  
Yuri scoffed. “I’m whatever the fucking pay-check needs me to be.”  
“Yuri!” Viktor snapped. “You are being rude to our guest.”  
Yuri groaned in annoyance. “Look. You’re right. I’m a dangerous, cold-blooded killer. My violence has basically made me an urban legend.”  
He leaned forward in his chair, looking Ms Altin right in the eye. “And I trust no one in this world more than myself to protect your son.”  
Yuri was suddenly determined to prove himself to Ms Altin. Before speaking to her he hadn’t particularly cared. But now something in his ego made him want to put his pride on the line.  
“Hmm.” Ms Altin raised a single eyebrow and smiled. “I’ll take your word for it. Very well, Mr Plisetsky. I charge you with the care of my son, for now. Thank you for meeting with me. We will speak again later. Mr Nikiforov, may I have a word with you in private?”  
“Certainly, Ms Altin.” Said Viktor, suddenly quite pleased. “Yuri, please go down to the lobby and wait for Georgi.”  
“Are you serious? I literally just got here.”  
“YURI.”  
“Okay!” Yuri rose from his chair with little to no grace, then at the last moment remembered to be polite. “It’s been an honour madam,” he said with a small bow. Ms Altin simply nodded in response. Yuri walked out of the room, rolling his eyes the whole way.  
As the door closed, Gulaisha and Viktor smiled at each other. She leaned on one elbow and chuckled. “You were right about him. He is moody.”  
Viktor sighed and slumped in his chair. “I’m sorry, Gulaisha. He seems to keep forgetting he’s not a teenager anymore.”  
“As do you. But I suppose that’s how it is, they will always be children to us.”  
Viktor paused at that. “You speak as if I am Yuri’s father.”  
Gulaisha smiled. “Well, perhaps not by blood.”  
Viktor decided not to comment on that, and simply smiled instead. “You gave me a heart attack when you teased him like that though.”  
Gulaisha Smirked. “I like to know who I’m dealing with. I think he will like my son. They seem quite similar, in a way. They might become good friends.”  
“You think so? That would be wonderful!” Viktor sighed. “Yuri needs more friends his own age.”  
“But in all seriousness, Viktor. If anything happens to my Beshka, I will kill you. And everyone you love.”  
Viktor smiled. “I know you would, Gulaisha. I’d feel the same if it were my family.”  
“So you’re certain your boy won’t put mine in harm’s way?”  
“I trust Yura with my life.”  
“Didn’t he try to kill you?”  
“We got past that.”  
“Then he tried to kill your husband-“  
“And now they’re good friends!” Viktor smiled nervously as he and Gulaisha both started to notice a pattern. “He won’t let us down, Gulaisha.”  
“Good. Because the only thing more important to me than the conference you’ve arranged is the safety of my children.”  
Viktor and Gulaisha had been corresponding with each other ever since she plotted to overthrow her husband two years ago. She took a huge risk approaching him, asking for his assistance, convincing him her rise to power would be of great benefit to them both. Besides, he never liked Adilbek. Selfish brute of a man.  
Viktor felt he was making great progress in his friendship with Gulaisha, even though they weren’t quite “I would die for you” friends, or even “I would immediately come to your aid” friends. People in the mafia were fickle and untrustworthy, and with how powerful Gulaisha had become he needed to know they could count on each other, so that they could eventually become “I will help you take out your enemies and not betray you immediately afterwards” friends.  
He’d set up the conference with the other Mafia bosses to help her cement her position as the true leader of the Almaty bratva. For Viktor, this month was about strengthening his bond with Gulaisha, and figuring out who he could and couldn’t trust. If Yuri happened to make a friend along the way (and hopefully realise his potential among the higher ups of the mafia) well, that would be a lovely bonus.

 

 

Yuri leaned against a wall in the lobby and lit a cigarette. When the receptionist finally noticed him she opened her mouth as if to protest, but when Yuri glared at her she decided against it, pretending instead that she had seen nothing. The Mafia used this hotel a lot, and Yuri couldn’t remember if it was because of some deal or because Viktor owned it. Possibly both. Viktor owned a lot of things. Georgi was nowhere in sight, which made Yuri wonder exactly how long this was gonna take. He also couldn’t message Georgi because he’d forgotten to get his phone back from Viktor.

He thought back to the talk they’d just had in the penthouse suite, and began to speculate the motives of the two mafia leaders. Altin had been gaining assets and influence at an incredible rate, with no sign of slowing down. Perhaps Viktor saw her as a threat, and decided to get on her good side instead of wasting resources trying to suppress her. It was a good enough tactic, provided she didn’t end up using Viktor’s own resources to overthrow him, like she did to her husband. It seemed unlikely though, Yuri assumed she’d be more interested in running Kazakhstan smoothly then trying to create her own international empire. Tempting though it may be.

Then there was the matter of her kid. Otabek, if he recalled correctly. Yuri wasn’t his “body guard” per se. Otabek would have his own body guards with him. No, he and Georgi would be more like tour guides, showing him around the city and keeping him entertained while the grown-ups were busy. Very much like babysitters. Georgi really was the better man for the job, being much more refined and hospitable. That’s why Viktor had chosen him to assist Yuri. As for Yuri himself, he assumed the Altins had chosen him because they were rich, pompous assholes who liked to show off and just loved the novelty of being able to hire “The Tiger of Russia”. He knew Otabek was older than him, but that didn’t matter if he was a snobby spoiled brat, as Yuri was certain he would be.

Yuri was roused from his thoughts by sudden movement and chatter at the reception desk. A man stood waiting at the desk as the receptionist ducked away to retrieve something. He wasn’t tall, but his shoulders were broad, and he had a strong, chiselled jaw. His hair was dark, styled in an undercut. He wore a nice, well fitted suit that was light grey, with a dark green silk shirt. The receptionist returned and handed the man a large fur coat. Yuri figured that was about as interesting as it was going to get. He pulled his sleeve up to check his watch, then remembered he wasn’t wearing a watch. He needed to start doing that. He reached into his pocket to check the time on his phone, then remembered again that Viktor still had the fucking thing. He groaned and threw his head back, then looked around to see if the lobby had a clock.

As he did, he saw that the man had moved away from the desk and proceeded in Yuri’s general direction. He only made it a short distance before he stopped. Now he was just standing there, holding a fur coat in one arm, and staring directly at Yuri. His stony expression revealed no intent but Yuri assumed he disapproved of his indoor smoking. He scoffed and continued searching for a clock. He found one above the receptionist’s desk and realised he’d only been waiting for about ten minutes. It had felt like hours and he was bored out of his mind. To make matters worse the coat guy was still staring at him. At this rate, by Yuri’s careful reasoning and calculations, this fucker wanted to start shit. Yuri threw his hands up in an exaggerated shrug. “The fuck are you staring at, asshole!?” He yelled across the lobby. The man did nothing but continue staring at him for a moment, then he glanced down at the ground, then turned his attention to the top of the grand lobby staircase.

Yuri stood there puzzled for a moment, then suddenly heard Viktor’s voice from the top of the stairs. He looked up and saw Viktor, Ms Altin, and all her bodyguards descending the steps. Yuri figured he should dispose of the cigarette before they noticed. Of course they were parading down the fucking stairs. Extravagant assholes. And where the hell was Georgi?

The lobby door was flung open and Georgi burst in, seeming rather puffed out. “I’m here!” He yelled. “Sorry I’m late,” he managed to say between fits of panting. “I had to go back home because I accidentally wore a pocket square that didn’t match my tie.”

“Georgi! You’re here!” said Viktor, as he got to the bottom of the stairs. “Oh, Yuri! You’ve already met Otabek!”

Yuri blinked. “What? Where?” He searched around the lobby but the only other person there was the coat guy. Who was staring at him again. Wait…

“Oh! Apparently not!” said Viktor, as he rushed towards Yuri and grabbed his arm, dragging him towards the man whom he had only just now realised was Otabek. When they got there Viktor stood with his arm tightly around Yuri’s shoulders. “Well? Say hi you two!”

Otabek briefly glanced back and forth between Viktor and Yuri, then tentatively raised his free hand for a mandatory handshake. Viktor immediately grabbed the hand, then Yuri’s hand, then smooshed the two hands into each other, then vigorously shook the hands for both of them, in an uncomfortable, three-person handshake that no one was enjoying except for Viktor.

“Otabek Altin! This is Yuri Plisetsky, the ferocious Tiger of Russia! He’s going to be showing you around St Petersburg, isn’t that exciting? Yuri! This is Otabek Altin, Gulaisha’s son and heir! He is a very accomplished young man with a promising future within the bratva! He’s very excited to be here! You two actually have a lot in common and I think you’ll be great friends!”

While Yuri was visibly grimacing and eager to escape, he noticed that Otabek’s stoic expression remained unchanged. But, he could tell by the subtle movements of his eyes that Otabek was just as uncomfortable as he was. “Well? What do you say?” said Viktor, still shaking their hands.

Otabek managed to force out a quiet “Nice to meet you.” Yuri responded with a shaky “Likewise.”

“Viktor, I’d like my son back, please.” Said Gulaisha, coming to their rescue.

“Yes, Ms Altin.” Viktor released their hands, and Yuri enjoyed a brief moment of freedom before Viktor grabbed him by the shoulders instead. “Yuri, a quick word if you please.” He said, dragging him towards a secluded corner. As he was being dragged away, Yuri looked over his shoulder to see the Altins. Otabek actually seemed relieved to be returned to his mother. He took her hands into his own, and they smiled at each other as they chatted in Kazakh. Yuri noticed they had the same gentle smile.

Once they were sufficiently secluded, Viktor spun Yuri around to face him, and received not a scowl, but a full-fledged snarl. He ignored it. “Yuri! I didn’t realise you could be so charming. Ms Altin really likes you! But it was so strange hearing you say madam so many times. I’ve never heard you call anyone madam before. It made me think how nice it would be if you ever called me “sir” or “boss” for once like you’re supposed to.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Now there isn’t much time before your reservation at the restaurant but maybe Georgi has a spare blazer or something he can lend you. Gulaisha and I will stay here at the hotel to talk business. She wants you and Georgi to show Otabek a good time, but not too good. Keep it tame. They’re staying here tonight, so be back by ten. Eleven at the latest, if you kids want to stop and get Slurpees or something.” Yuri simply gaped, as if he was looking at the stupidest person alive. He did that a lot around Viktor. “Oh, and here’s your phone.” Yuri’s mouth snapped shut as he grabbed the phone that was only half-way out of Viktor’s pocket and shoved it into his own. “And Yuri, please leave it on this time.”

“I’m afraid I can’t.”

“What? Why?”

“Because if I do you might call me.”

“Very funny. Okay now go, they’re waiting. Go, go, go!” Yuri stomped off towards the group waiting by the door. As he did Viktor called out to him. “Have fun, Yura!” Without breaking stride Yuri raised his hand and flipped him off. It was in full view of all their guests but he couldn’t care less. “That’s my boy,” Viktor mumbled to himself as the entourage disappeared out of the lobby.

 

 

Otabek and his two bodyguards sat on one side of the limousine, while Yuri and Georgi sat on the other side, facing them. Well, Georgi was facing them. Yuri was spread inelegantly across his seat, leaning his head against the window and checking his phone. Georgi was eagerly chatting away with Otabek and his guards, welcoming them to Russia, saying how overjoyed he was to be at their service, telling them about the wonderful restaurant they were headed to, with its exquisite foods and fine wines.

Otabek tried to listen, but his attention kept being drawn to Yuri and he couldn’t help but stare. Yuri had long, toned limbs, and his hands and fingers were covered in gang tattoos. There appeared to be more tattoos on his neck and throat, but they were mostly obscured by the collar of his jacket. His long, blonde hair went down past his shoulders, almost to his waist. It was thick like flax, but smooth like silk. His pale face had sharp, angular features, most notably his long, narrow jawline and cutting cheekbones. There was a faded scar on one side of his lips, and on that side Otabek could have sworn he glimpsed some silver teeth. Otabek wondered which of the gory legends of the ferocious Tiger of Russia could be attributed to that injury. Then there were his eyes. His piercing, fearless, green-blue eyes…

Georgi poked Yuri’s arm to get his attention. “Yuri, I can’t remember. Do you prefer the T-bone steak, or the filet mignon?”

Yuri groaned. “Why don’t we just go to Mila’s like we always do?”

Georgi was visibly scandalised by that suggestion. “Yuri, we have a reservation! We can’t just change our plans last minute. We promised our guests we would take them to the finest-“

“Eugh, god I know. But I hate that fancy shit. The food is way better at Mila’s.” Georgi chuckled nervously, and addressed Otabek and his guards.

“Please don’t mind Yuri, he just, uh…” Otabek waited politely for Georgi to coherently finish his sentence. When it seemed he wasn’t going to, he returned his attention to Yuri.

“Could you tell me more about this place, Mila’s?” He asked.

“It’s the best joint in this shit hole city.” Yuri replied, without looking up from his phone. Georgi held his forehead in his hand and sighed.

“It is? How so?” Otabek pressed.

Yuri smiled, but continued to look at his phone. “Well for starters they have the best food in the city. You’ll never find a better burger. Plus Mila mixes the best drinks. Way better than shitty old wine. And the music is always on point. Mila’s has the only music worth listening to.”

Otabek raised an eyebrow at that. “That is a bold claim. I am very particular about music.”

Yuri scoffed. “Yeah I bet you are.”

“Well of course,” Otabek continued. “I am an amateur DJ after all.”

Yuri’s eyes shot up from his phone, and he stared wide eyed at Otabek, taking in his stony, deadpan expression. Then, suddenly, he burst into laughter. It was a hearty laugh, and Otabek couldn’t help but to smile slightly. It was quite a nice laugh, in Otabek’s opinion.

“Okay, Mr DJ.” Said Yuri, still chuckling. “You should spin at Mila’s some time.”

Otabek smiled. “I’d love to.”

“Awesome.” Yuri turned to the driver. “Misha! Take us to Mila’s.”

The driver, Misha, was suddenly very excited. “Yes! I LOVE Mila’s!” She cried.

Georgi, who was very indignant, voiced his disapproval. “Oh no you don’t. Misha, keep going to the restaurant. We are not changing our plans.

“Aww…” Misha groaned, slumping in her seat.

“Christ Georgi, when did you get a stick up your ass?” Said Yuri. Then he turned towards Otabek. “What would you like to do, Mr DJ? You are our honoured guest after all.” He accented his sentence with a challenging smirk.

“You’ve really sold me on Mila’s.” Otabek replied. “I think we should go there.”

“Um, sir?” Said one of Otabek’s bodyguards. “Ms Altin doesn’t-“

“She won’t mind,” he assured them. The guards looked at each other and shrugged. Neither of them challenged him further. Yuri turned to Georgi with a smug look on his face. Realising he was outnumbered, Georgi begrudgingly accepted his defeat.

He took out his phone and sighed. “I’ll cancel the reservation…” Both Yuri and Misha hooted and hollered in celebration, chanting all the way to the bar, and Otabek decided he was going to like being in Russia.

 

 

They were a few blocks away from the club when they left the limo. Once Misha decided to join them she realised she had to find secure parking, because even the biggest, baddest gangster in the city shouldn’t leave a limousine unattended. As they walked down the street Yuri looked over at Otabek, who was quite poised as he strode down the path wearing his large, bushy fur coat. It looked good on him. Yuri was in fact extremely annoyed by how good he looked. So far Otabek hadn’t quite lined up with Yuri’s expectations which only made him suspicious. Sure, there were plenty of strong, silent types in the mafia, but they weren’t usually the pampered children of rich leaders. Yuri rolled his eyes at himself for overthinking trivial bullshit.

As they drew closer to their destination, he took the lead point of the entourage. Mila’s was in fact quite a well kempt, spacious establishment. There was an enormous neon sign above the entrance that depicted a red haired woman holding a bottle of beer and winking, next to the word “Mila’s”. There wasn’t much of a line yet, considering it was still quite early in the evening. Not that it would have mattered. They walked past the line straight to the entrance. The bouncer, a very large man named Boris, had already seen Yuri coming and held his arms out in greeting. Yuri smiled and jogged over to him.

“Yuraaa!!” Boris yelled in his deep gruff voice as he scooped Yuri up into a colossal embrace, briefly lifting him off his feet. While he was up there, Yuri placed a hand on Boris’s bald head, rubbing it for good luck. “The Tiger is prowling early tonight, hm?” Boris asked, as he returned Yuri to the ground.

“Yeah. Got to get the kids home by ten” Yuri said, motioning his head towards the Kazakhs coming up behind him.

“Ahhhh,” said Boris, nodding knowingly. “Nikiforov’s important guests.” He leaned in towards Yuri and spoke quietly, side-eyeing the approaching group. “Too fancy for this place, don’t you think?”

Yuri smirked. “If you’re too fancy for this place you won’t last long in Russia.”

Boris laughed heartily as he patted Yuri on the back. “Go in! Go in. Mila will love some fresh meat.”

“Love you, Boris!” Yuri called back as he walked through the door. Boris put his hand over his heart, to show that he was touched. Then he caught Georgi trying to sneak past him by hiding behind Otabek’s bodyguards. “Georgiiii!!” He yelled, grabbing Georgi by the scruff of his coat and pulling him into a crushing hug.

“Hello Boris,” Georgi wheezed as he fought for air. Boris then trapped Georgi’s head tightly under his arm and laughed as he mussed up his hair with his other hand. That was the last Yuri saw of him before they entered the club.

There were quite a few people around inside the club, but it was still very tame. Misha spotted some friends of hers and vanished without a trace. Mila was cleaning a table when Yuri spotted her. She did all the same work her employees did. She also wore the same uniform; a short-sleeved red shirt with a tight waistcoat and bow tie, and black short-shorts with fishnet stockings. On her feet, of course, were sensible work shoes. Being the owner she didn’t have to do any of this, but she chose to for a few reasons; she liked being busy and interacting with people, the uniform looked super cute on her, and, she loved watching the souls leave people’s bodies when she revealed she was the owner after they’d asked her to fetch her boss.

“Hey, hag!” Yuri called out to her. “I want to speak to the manager!” Mila instantly perked up at the sound of Yuri’s voice, then she dashed over to him with open arms.

“Yura!” She trilled, as she threw her arms around his neck, standing on her tiptoes to do so.

“Yeah, yeah.” Yuri said, patting her on the back. Mila pulled away but kept her hands on his shoulders.

“So, finally come to work for me you little freeloader?” She asked fiendishly. Her sparkling blue eyes and silky, bouncy red curls would have looked so innocent if it weren’t for the sharp winged eyeliner and fire engine red lipstick.

“Ew, no. You just want to see me in that trampy little uniform.” Yuri said, brushing one of Mila’s hands off his shoulder.

“It’s what the people want, Yuri. Take one for the team.” If they weren’t childhood friends who loved each other like family, Yuri would have kicked her into the Sun by now. “Oooooh, who are your friends, Yura?” Mila asked, walking right up to Otabek.

Yuri sighed. “Mila, this is Otabek Altin, our special guest from Kazakhstan, and his two nameless bodyguards. You guys, this is Mila Babicheva. She owns this place.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr Altin.” Said Mila, holding out her hand.

“The pleasure is mine, Ms Babicheva.” Said Otabek, bowing slightly and lifting Mila’s hand to kiss it. She fanned herself with her other hand. Yuri rolled his eyes.

“Oh please, just call me Mila. Let’s get you all set up in the VIP room, shall we?”

The VIP room overlooked most of the club, from the bar, to the dancefloor, to the raised stage and the DJ booth. There were even a few cages scattered around the place for dancers. The room itself was lavishly set up with decorative cushions and throw rugs on every available surface.

Once everyone was seated comfortably, Mila handed Otabek a menu. “Tell me what you’d like, Mr Altin.” She said in an overly sultry tone. “It’ll be my treat.”

“Don’t give him free shit Mila he’s fucking rich.”

“Don’t be rude, Yura.” Mila walked over to an inconspicuous cushioned side table and opened it to reveal a fridge full of alcohol. “Here’s the mini bar! It’s on the house too.” As she said that she helped herself to a bottle of beer and cracked it open.

“Drinking on the job now, Mila?” Yuri teased.

“It’s okay as long as my boss doesn’t find out.” Said Mila, taking a sip.

Yuri snickered. “What about your other customers downstairs?”

“That’s what employees are for.” Then Mila turned towards Otabek, held up her beer bottle and winked. Just like her neon sign.

True to Yuri’s word, the food was delicious, the drinks were fantastic and the music was perfect. Georgi finally managed to find his way to them after stopping at the restroom to fix his hair. Between Mila’s flirting and Georgi’s eagerness to please, Yuri figured Otabek had his hands full and took the opportunity to slip away. He wandered towards the dance floor at first, but then decided his stomach was too full and he wasn’t drunk enough. Then he went outside the front entrance again to catch up with Boris. They talked for a while, much to the annoyance of the people still waiting to go in, but after about 40 minutes there was a shift change and Boris went home. The replacement guy was an asshole that Yuri hated and wanted to avoid at all costs. Still not willing to go and spend time with his guests, Yuri opted to go to the roof for some much needed time alone.

Mila had given Yuri the code to the lock on the door to the roof pretty much the day she opened. It was cold outside, but it was quiet and still. And by a stroke of luck, there was no wind or rain. Yuri found his favourite wall to lean on and lit a cigarette, looking down at the bustling night life below, and gazing up at the one or two stars that peaked through the clouds above. He was only half way through his cigarette when he heard the roof to the door open.

He rolled his eyes. “Fuck off, Georgi.” He spouted automatically. Georgi was one of the few other people who knew the code to the roof, and had probably come to drag Yuri back to his hosting duties. When he didn’t receive a response, and didn’t recognise the footsteps, he turned to look at who was approaching. “Oh.”

Otabek approached cautiously, and stopped at a safe distance. “Forgive me for intruding.” He said in that deadpan voice with his deadpan expression which made Yuri uncertain if he was genuine or not.

Yuri raised an eyebrow. “Mila gave you the code to the door?” He asked.

“Yes.” Said Otabek. “She said you like to come up here to be alone.”

Yuri huffed, and returned to his cigarette and comfortable leaning position. “I can’t believe she’d sell me out like that.”

Otabek took a few steps closer. “She seems like a good friend. She cares about you a lot.” Yuri scoffed. It was true, but it was annoying to hear it from other people. Plus it was none of his business.

“So what do you want? Wanna leave already? I bet Mila would give you a lift. She’s got a big crush on you.”

Otabek smiled. “Mila is a very charming woman. I like her a lot. Unfortunately, she is not my type.”

“Seriously?” Yuri asked, disbelieving. “Then what is your type?”

“Hmm.” Otabek paused for a moment, pondering his answer. “I don’t think I know you well enough to share that with you.” Yuri could have sworn he saw a mischievous glint in Otabek’s eyes as he said that. Yuri chuckled, then he took a moment to actually consider Otabek. His deep, smooth voice paired with his stoic expression should have been intimidating, but Yuri found it oddly soothing. He was shorter than Yuri, but not by much. His thick neck, broad shoulders and large hands gave away that his expensive suit was hiding a lot of muscle. His skin was a deep olive tone, smooth and unblemished. The longer portion of his black hair was mostly swept back, with a few loose strands to frame his thick, intense eyebrows. His sharp, dark eyes gleamed with the same intensity that Yuri had seen in Ms Altin.

“May I join you?” Otabek asked. Yuri gave a ‘whatever’ shrug as Otabek leaned on the wall beside him. Yuri wondered why he was so casually accepting of Otabek’s presence. Most men Yuri encountered were potential enemies, whom he glared into submission and kept at bay with threats and snarls. If it were any other man who had come through that door, Yuri would have thrown him back inside. Or thrown him off the roof. But something about Otabek convinced Yuri that he wasn’t a threat.

“I came up here to apologise to you.” Said Otabek, looking down at the ground.

“Apologise? For what?” Yuri asked.

“For staring at you at the hotel earlier. I was gawking like a child. Please forgive my behaviour.” Oh. Thought Yuri, who figured he should probably apologise too, for swearing at him in the lobby, for Viktor’s horrendous behaviour, for ditching him in the club…

But before he could speak, Otabek continued. “It’s just, I didn’t expect to recognise you so easily. You’ve changed so much, and yet…”

“Wait, what?” Yuri asked, confused and slightly alarmed. Did Otabek know him from somewhere? Otabek smiled.

“I didn’t expect you to remember me. I met you once. Sort of. I think I was sixteen…”

Yuri listened with wide-eyed fascination as Otabek recounted the first time he laid eyes upon the ferocious Tiger of Russia.

 

~~

 

The restaurant in St Petersburg was one of the most stunning venues Otabek had ever been to. Adilbek Altin, his father, had been invited to dinner with many of the other highest ranking Bratva leaders to celebrate the succession of Viktor Nikiforov over his late father. Otabek had been brought along for business reasons; to learn from his superiors, make connections etc. He knew quite well that Adilbek would not take him with him to Russia just because he wanted to spend time with his son.

The dinner guests all sat around a long table crowded with food and wine, with Viktor at the head. There was merriment and laughter all around, as the leaders cheered and congratulated their new, young boss. Otabek’s father was a humourless man, however, and sat stony faced and brooding, believing himself above such behaviour. Otabek too sat still and silent, not from haughtiness, but from fear of stepping out of line. He daren’t make a single movement without his father’s explicit instruction lest it be perceived as defiance, which Adilbek did not take kindly to. So he sat there next to his father, silently observing the other diners and trying to be as invisible as possible.

That was until his chair suddenly lurched forward, causing him to jump in alarm. He looked around to see what had caused the movement, and realised that his father had reached over and shoved the chair forward to push Otabek closer to the table. He froze with his hands on either side of his plate, not knowing what to do.

“Eat.” Adilbek ordered.

He wasted no time obeying his father’s command, snatching up his cutlery and diligently digging into his meal. After some time, Viktor tapped on his wine glass to make a toast, thanking all his guests, and saying how honoured he was etc. Otabek’s attention wandered, and he watched instead as someone from the kitchens emerged pushing a trolley full of food. It seemed unremarkable at first, but upon closer inspection he noticed that this particular kitchen hand was very, very young. A junior trainee perhaps? The small kitchen hand pushed the trolley all the way to the head of the table, right next to Viktor, who was still giving his toast. Then it struck Otabek; the kitchen hands didn’t deliver the food, it was the waiters who were supposed to. Something was very wrong here. His suspicions were confirmed when the boy pulled a gun from his apron and pointed it at Viktor’s head.

Suddenly there was an uproar of panic and alarm. The two guards posted at the door quickly advanced, drawing their weapons. The boy was too fast for them and gunned them both down in quick succession with two precise shots. Before their bodies had even hit the ground he immediately returned his aim to Viktor’s head. Viktor hadn’t moved an inch. The sudden gunshots had silenced everyone in the room. No one at the table had brought any kind of weapons, including Viktor, as a sign of goodwill. Knowing this, the room full of mafia leaders simply sat in silence, watching, waiting to see who would move first. Otabek too watched in stunned silence, baffled by the sudden and violent appearance of the skinny blonde boy with the vicious snarl and the fiery eyes, who possessed a knack for guns and killing well beyond his years.

“Who killed Anton Plisetsky?” The boy asked Viktor. The voice was deeper than Otabek expected given the boy’s age and size, and the venom in his words sent a shiver down his spine. Viktor appeared completely unperturbed by the sudden events. His face was completely serene as he turned to look at the boy.

“Young man…” He said, slowly lowering his wine glass. “That gun does not belong to you.”

The boy cocked the gun. “It does now. Tell me what I want to know.”

“Don’t be stupid, boy.” Said one of the bosses sitting near the head of the table, though Otabek figured it was a bit late for that. The boy only glared at him.

Viktor sighed. “Listen, little boy…”

“MY NAME IS YURI!” The boy snapped. “Don’t talk to me like some stupid kid. Now tell me who killed my father!”

“I see…” Said Viktor, sudden realisation on his face. “Anton was one of my best men. I feel responsibility for his death. We know the man who killed him, but we have been unable to apprehend him.”

“So give me a name you stupid old man. Then I’ll go and finish your job for you while you sit here and eat your lobster.”

Viktor raised his eyebrows. “You intend to hunt down this man? All by yourself?”

“It’s not like you’re going to fucking do anything about it!” Yuri snarled.

Viktor shook his head solemnly. “Don’t do this Yuri. What would Nikolai think?” At the mention of that name, Yuri faltered ever so slightly. But it was enough. Viktor took advantage, moving faster than Otabek thought was possible. He grabbed Yuri’s gun hand and slammed it into the corner of the table, holding it there. With his other hand he grabbed Yuri’s jaw, then stood bolt upright, pulling Yuri’s face up with him. It happened so quickly it took Otabek a moment to process what had happened. He looked at the way Viktor had Yuri trapped; one hand crushing his into the table, the other in a vice-like grip over his chin, pulling the boy’s face up towards his own. It looked extremely painful. But despite his sudden incapacitation, Yuri’s eyes looked straight into Viktor’s with the same ferocity and determination.

At that moment a horde of Viktor’s armed minions charged in through the door. They formed a circle around the head of the table and all aimed their guns at Yuri.

“I’ll kill that son of a bitch,” Yuri snarled, not quite grasping the situation he was in, Otabek thought. “And if you get in my way, I’ll kill you too!”

Viktor’s brow was furrowed, but he gave a thoughtful smile. He looked away from Yuri and back towards his dinner guests. “I’m terribly sorry ladies and gentlemen, but we will have to end the festivities here for tonight.” Then he looked right back into Yuri’s eyes. “I need to have a private conversation with young Mr Plisetsky.”

The men who didn’t have their guns pointed at Yuri moved the bodies of the two dead guards so the guests could file out of the room. They all left calmly, confident that the situation was well handled and under control. As he left, Otabek kept looking over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of the fascinating Yuri Plisetsky, feeling uneasy as he was uncertain of the boy’s fate.

Otabek and his father stood outside the restaurant waiting for their car. They waited quite a while as they were one of the last groups to leave. As their car finally pulled up Otabek couldn’t help but turn back to look at the restaurant one last time. As he did, Otabek came face to face with the people stepping out the door. The first was Viktor Nikiforov, wearing his grey fur coat and carrying his cane. And right by his side, with Viktor’s arm over his shoulders, was Yuri Plisetsky. Otabek’s eyes went as wide as dinner plates.

The boy’s rage that had boiled over in the restaurant was now simmering just beneath the surface, hidden by a calm and focused determination. Otabek looked right into the piercing blue-green eyes of the fearsome young man as they burned into his soul. He kept watching as the pair walked away together, until his father grabbed his shoulder and pulled him into their car.

 

~~

 

Yuri didn’t know what to say. He had no idea where to even begin. He simply stared at Otabek, completely dumbfounded. Eventually he realised his cigarette had burned down to a nub, which snapped him back to reality. “Wow…” he managed to say, dropping the butt and crushing it under his foot. “I haven’t thought about that night in years. I… I can’t believe you were there. I don’t remember you.”

Otabek shook his head. “Like I said, I didn’t expect you to. We never actually spoke, and you seemed rather preoccupied at the time.” Otabek reached into his jacket and pulled a silver cigarette case from his breast pocket. Inside were expensive, neatly stacked cigarettes wrapped in beautiful red filter paper. “Do you mind if I smoke?” He asked.

“Damn,” said Yuri. “Only if you give me one of those Gucci cigarettes.” Otabek gladly handed one to him. Yuri held it in his mouth as he searched himself for his lighter, but before he could get to it Otabek had ignited his own lighter, offering the flame to Yuri. Yuri looked at it with trepidation for a moment, then slowly brought his face towards the offered flame, lighting the cigarette between his lips. Yuri had let other people light his cigarette for him before, but this time seemed unusually intimate. Perhaps it was just because of how close they were standing to each other. As soon as he was lit he turned away.

Otabek lit his own cigarette and pocketed his lighter. “May I ask you some things?” He said to Yuri.

“Yeah. Shoot.” Said Yuri, as he watched Otabek exhale a cloud of thick, blue smoke.

“That night at the restaurant, how old were you at the time?”

Yuri threw his head back as he thought. “God, I was like… thirteen. Yeah.”

Otabek raised his eyebrows. “Thirteen? Really?”

“Mhmm,” Yuri hummed as he nodded.

“How does a thirteen year old know how to use a gun like that?” Otabek asked.

“My dad taught me.” Yuri replied. “He taught me all that sort of stuff.”

“I see,” Said Otabek. “You and your father were close, then?”

Yuri stared down at the ground and was quiet for a moment. “Mm.” He mumbled softly, giving the slightest of shrugs. It wasn’t really an answer, but Otabek didn’t press him.

After a moment, Otabek piped up with another question. “Who is Nikolai?” Yuri looked up from the ground, then turned to look directly at Otabek.

He raised a suspicious eyebrow. “I don’t know you well enough to share that with you.” They both chuckled at that, relaxing for the moment. But then quickly stiffened again as they fell into an uncomfortable silence. Otabek felt he had hit a boundary and wasn’t going to push.

But Yuri wasn’t ready to stop talking to him, so he took matters into his own hands. “Okay, you know what? It’s my turn to ask questions now.”

Otabek turned his head towards Yuri. His face was deadpan, but his eyes revealed that he was intrigued. “Shoot.”

“Okay first of all, back in the limo, why the hell did you say you were a DJ?”

Otabek gave an almost undetectable shrug. “Because it’s true.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’ve DJ’ed at most of the clubs in Almaty and a few in Anatas. I even brought some mixing tables with me to Russia. I can demonstrate for you, if you like.”

Yuri stared intently at Otabek looking for any tells, but his face revealed nothing. “Is something wrong?” Otabek asked, as he calmly took another drag of his cigarette.

Yuri squinted his eyes and furrowed his brows, still attempting to analyse the other man’s face. “I can’t tell if you’re lying or not.”

Otabek tilted his head. “Or, you know I’m telling the truth and you refuse to believe it.” They had a brief staring contest, until Yuri snickered. The sound made Otabek smile, ever so slightly.

“Okay, Mr DJ, next question. Why did you hire me?”

“Ah.” Otabek’s calm façade seemed to falter slightly; apparently the question had caught him off guard. He turned away from Yuri and stared at the ground. “Hmm.”

“What? What is it?” Yuri asked, trying to meet Otabek’s averted gaze.

“Well it’s just that… Hiring you was sort of an accident.”

Yuri was incredulous. “How the fuck do you ‘accidentally’ hire someone!?”

Otabek visibly prepared himself to explain. “Back home, when my mother and Mr Nikiforov were arranging this visit, my mother made an offhand comment to him about how charming it would be if her son was personally chaperoned by the infamous Tiger of Russia. She told him that I would love to meet you, after all. It was just a joke, but…”

“But Viktor didn’t catch on and just ran with it?” Yuri finished for him. “God, he’s such a dumbass.” Yuri slid further down the wall, once again exasperated by Viktor’s stupidity.

Otabek stifled a chuckle. “We tried to correct the miscommunication, but he was quite insistent. He seemed very excited about the whole affair.”

Yuri groaned. “Of course he was! He’s always excited. He’s like a giant, moronic puppy.” Otabek didn’t stifle his chuckle this time. “It’s not funny!” Yuri retorted, but failing to stop himself from smiling. “I’m the poor asshole who has to put up with his bullshit all day.”

Otabek cleared his throat. “Well, I suppose that is yet another thing I have to apologise for. I’m sorry we have caused you so much trouble.”

Yuri waved his hands dismissively. “No, don’t. It’s not your fault Viktor is a dickhead.”

Otabek quietly took another drag from his cigarette, his face once again stony and unreadable. “If you prefer, to prevent wasting your time, I can decline your services.”

Yuri chuckled at that. “What, sick of me already?” Yuri’s smirk faded as Otabek went very quiet and very still. It was hard to tell but he seemed almost solemn.

“No…” He finally said after an age. “If you would allow it I would prefer to keep you as my chaperone.”

Yuri regarded Otabek quizzically, trying to figure out what he was thinking. “Why does it matter? You said it was a joke.”

Otabek straightened up and steeled himself. It became apparent that he was about to say something very important and Yuri tried very hard not to look like he was about to hang on to Otabek’s every word.

“It was a joke because we didn’t think it was practical. I wasn’t even sure it was possible. But, once it was confirmed, I was delighted. Because I have been wanting to see you again ever since that night at the restaurant.”

Yuri was stunned. He wasn’t sure where this was going. “But, why?”

“Because you were courageous. Because you burned like the sun and fought like a lion. You took your destiny into your own hands and forced the world to give you the justice you demanded. Completely unwavering, even when your situation seemed hopeless. You did not cower from pain or quietly pity yourself, you fought. And… I wanted that. I wanted your courage. To be as strong and fearless as you.”

Yuri was speechless. He had stopped slouching against the wall to turn and give Otabek his full attention. All he could do was stand there in stunned silence.

“You inspired me, Yuri Plisetsky,” Otabek continued. “You instilled a courage in me I did not know I was capable of. I have gotten to where I am now because of you. And over the years, when I felt certain I would falter, I began to hear stories of the legendary Tiger of Russia. At first you were just a ghost story. But time passed and everyone knew of St Petersburg’s most fearsome assassin. The Icy Soldier who turned the tides in hopeless battles, who brought strength and power to his allies and fear and death to his enemies. The one man storm who helped the Nikiforov’s drag the bratva out of the gutters and made it stand tall once again. And no one knew his name. But I knew…”

Otabek’s voice trailed off as he looked directly into Yuri’s eyes. Yuri’s eyes were wide but his jaw was set. He looked straight back into Otabek’s eyes, steady, unwavering, burning with determination. “I knew it was you. It could only be you.”

Then there was silence. Yuri’s mind reeled, trying to process Otabek’s rather eloquent speech. He briefly wondered if it was rehearsed or if Otabek was naturally that poetic.

In the meantime, Otabek’s heart was racing, but he did not show it. He had said his piece, but had no idea how Yuri would respond. Would he laugh in his face? Would he hate him? Would he kill him? He quietly wished that of the three it would be the latter to spare him the mortification. But whatever the outcome, he knew he would not falter. He would not take back a single word.

“Hmm.” Said Yuri, finishing his cigarette, and every muscle in Otabek’s body tensed. “The Icy Soldier. Is that what they call me in Kazakhstan?”

Well, that wasn’t what Otabek had expected. He nodded. “Sometimes.”

“Hmm.” Yuri said again. “I like it. Might start using that.” He tossed his cigarette and took half a step closer to Otabek. He folded his arms and furrowed his brow. The stern look he gave made Otabek think he might scold him. But his eyes were filled not with anger, but curiosity.

“Why did you need courage?” Yuri asked, his tone almost accusatory. “What was so hard about your life that you needed me to make you brave?”

Otabek’s voice was soft, but unshaken. “I needed courage so I could take care of my family. So that we could survive my father.”

Yuri unfurrowed his brow and nodded solemnly. _I should have known_ , he thought to himself, _it wasn’t hard to figure out_. He looked down and leaned his shoulder on the wall. “Hm. Your Dad was a dick.”

“Yeah.” Said Otabek. “Yeah, he was.” The tension eased out of him, and it was only then that he realised how painfully his nails were digging into his palm. But he wasn’t quite finished yet.

“Yuri.” Yuri looked back up again. “All I really wanted to say was that I respect you. And… that I want to use my time here as an opportunity to earn your respect, as you have earned mine.”

Yuri looked to his side, thinking.

“So.” Said Otabek, snapping Yuri out of his thoughts. Otabek extended his arm towards him. “Friends?”

Yuri’s eyes went wide again and he burst into laughter. “This isn’t kindergarden.”

Otabek shrugged. “I prefer the direct approach.”

“Yeah no shit,” said Yuri, still chuckling. After a moment he righted himself. “Okay, sure.” He said. Then he clasped Otabek’s outstretched hand without an ounce of hesitation. “Friends.” And the moment their hands were together they felt like they had been friends all their lives.

“This is much easier without Mr Nikiforov’s assistance.” Said Otabek, sending Yuri into another bout of laughter. And the sound made him smile more brightly than he had in years.

They talked and talked for over an hour, until the cold became too much for them to bear and they went back indoors.

When they returned to the VIP room they found Otabek’s guards at the mercy of a very drunk Georgi and a very flirtatious Mila. With Otabek out of reach, Mila turned all her attention to Otabek’s female guard; a very tall and muscular woman. Mila sat in her lap and played with her tie while the woman nervously tried to finish her drink. Otabek’s other guard, a guy with a moustache, was forced to comfort the incessantly sobbing Georgi as he wept into his shoulder, crying out about Anya; his lost love. Otabek helped Yuri pry the pairs apart so they could go downstairs and try to find their driver. They had lost track of time and it was now really late, so they had to leave. By the time they found Misha she wasn’t exactly fit to drive, so they carried her to the limousine and Yuri took her place at the wheel.

When they got back to the hotel Viktor was standing out the front waiting for them. Yuri got out first and walked over to the passenger’s door to let everyone else out.

“Yuri!” Viktor snapped. “It is 12:30 am! Where the hell were you!?”

“We were getting Slurpees,” Yuri said nonchalantly, holding up the slurpee in his hand. Otabek and his guards filed out of the limousine one by one, each with their own slurpee. Viktor simply put his face in his palm and shook his head.

Before he entered the building Otabek turned back to his host to bid him farewell. “Thank you for the wonderful evening. I had a lot of fun.”

Yuri saluted him with his slurpee. “See you tomorrow, Mr DJ.”

“Mr DJ?” Viktor asked, but he was ignored.

Otabek gave Yuri a simple thumbs up in response, while taking a sip from his drink.

“Good night, Mr Altin!” Viktor said, forcing a smile. Otabek nodded at him, and walked inside the building. Viktor then turned to Yuri with a scowl on his face. “Yuri, I’d like a word with you, please.”

Yuri walked back to the driver’s door. “Not now. I’ve got to get Georgi and Misha home.”

“What?” Viktor asked. “What’s wrong with Georgi? Why isn’t Misha driving?”

Suddenly the passenger window was lowered, letting out the sound of Georgi’s sobbing and wailing. “Come back to me Anyaaaaa!” He cried. Misha crawled halfway out of the open window with a slurpee in one hand.

“Hiiiiiii! Mr Nikiforoooov!!” She said, before vomiting a rainbow onto the pavement.

“Okay, see ya!” Yuri called out as he drove away.

“Wait! YURI!” Viktor shouted. But he was already gone. Viktor leaned on his cane, put his face in his palm, and let out his most exasperated sigh. That young man was going to make his hair fall out someday.


	2. The Street Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into Yuri's first few weeks in the mafia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm giving y'all fair warning now that I love long detailed flashbacks and I will do them A LOT.  
> This chapter is a lot shorter than the first chapter, but that's mostly because the first chapter was actually two and a half chapters smooshed together.  
> I also I actually came up with a real title for this fic! Will I keep it? Who knows.

_**7 years ago** _

 

Yuri breathed warm air onto his frozen hands and buried them in the pockets of his puffy, oversized parka. He stood in a hidden crevice beside the busy footpath, watching the people coming out of the building across the street. He was waiting for someone; a woman with long, dark hair and heavy make-up, according to the pictures Viktor had shown him. Although he was thirteen, Yuri’s height and features made him appear much younger; a fact he took great advantage of in these situations.

The woman finally walked out of the building and stepped into the street, pulling her scarf up closer to her face and looking around her warily as she walked. Yuri crossed the street towards her, keeping his eyes open wide so that the cold air would make his eyes water. When he caught up to her he gently tugged on her sleeve and pleaded to her in the most innocent and pitiable voice he could muster. “Miss? I can’t find my mother…”

 

Anya was no fool. She knew that anyone could be working for them, even a child. But he was so young, and his eyes so big and bright and full of tears. Her guard lowered immediately. Besides, they were only going to the café half a block away. She’d been there many times before; it was a public place, it was busy at this time and she knew people there. She protectively squeezed the boy’s small, cold hand, and he smiled up at her so brightly that her heart filled with warmth.

As she stepped through the café door, her inner warmth quickly dissipated. There were no lights on, and no customers. Someone was definitely there, silent and unmoving, but her eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dark yet. Suddenly the door shut behind her and was locked by a large man who had seemingly appeared from nowhere. The boy’s hand slipped out of her grip and he disappeared into the darkness. She froze in terror. She dared not make a sound.

A single weak light came on, illuminating the room just enough to see, but dim enough that passers by would be none the wiser. She could see now that she was surrounded, and all possible exits were cut off. A man in a nice suit sat in a booth and sipped from a cup of coffee, a jewel-topped cane resting beside him. Anya couldn’t make out his face in the dark but she knew who he was.

“Hello, Anya.” Viktor said, gently placing his cup back on its saucer. Anya clenched her fists, forcing herself not to scream and run.

“Hello Mr Nikifirov.”

Viktor leaned forward and Anya could make out more of his silvery hair and pearlescent teeth. “Please, sit.” He gestured to the seat across from him. Some of the men slowly started to move in on her and she decided it was best to comply with the request before she was forced. Someone held the chair out for her, and gently pushed it back in as she sat down.

“Coffee?” Viktor asked. But before Anya could say anything a hot cup of coffee on a saucer was delicately placed in front of her. “Double espresso with two sugars, that’ll put a spring in your step!” Viktor said with a cheery smile. Well, of course the most powerful man in the city knew how she took her coffee. She was too scared to drink from it, but she was more scared of what would happen if she so rudely rejected the gift, so she gingerly placed her hands around the cup, silently grateful for the warmth. “Thank you,” she muttered quietly. “You are too kind.”

Viktor shook his head dismissively. “No no, it is the least I can do after causing you so much trouble. I’m sure this must all be quite alarming.” Anya glanced around nervously at the dozen or so undoubtedly armed men watching her every move, but said nothing. “Please forgive the theatrics,” Viktor continued. “I try to be as discreet as possible, but it turns out you are a very difficult woman to contact. Poor Georgi here says you haven’t been returning his calls.”

 _Georgi!?_ Anya thought to herself. _That useless lump is here!?_ She quickly scanned the room and spotted him standing at the back of the café, leaning against the wall. As soon as they made eye contact she scowled at him and he quickly averted his gaze. That was when she noticed the small blonde boy sitting at the table beside him, holding a hot chocolate and smirking at her. That little shit. Had he really sold her out for a fucking hot chocolate? Any warm feelings she had had towards the boy quickly devolved into a desire to drown the little street rat in a frozen puddle.

“So, Miss Anya.” She quickly turned her head back to face Mr Nikifirov. In her anger she had briefly forgotten how much danger she was in. “I would hate to waste your time. I only wish to ask you a few questions. About, say, three or four weeks ago? There was quite a commotion at a warehouse on the docks. A lot of shooting. A lot of deaths. Are you familiar with the incident?”

She went pale. This was about the drug snatch. She should have known. “Of course,” She said. “It was on the news.”

“Hm.” Viktor hummed, sipping from his coffee. “Do you think you could shed some light on the incident for me? Perhaps provide a name or two? It would be most helpful.” Anya forced herself to stop trembling. How did he know? She was so careful. No, he couldn’t know, she decided. He was bluffing. Viktor Nikifirov must have no leads and was clutching at straws.

She swallowed. “Why ask me? How could I possibly know?”

Viktor sighed. He held up his hand and the man nearest him passed him a piece of paper. “I ask you this, Miss Anya,” He said, laying the piece of paper in front of her. “Because you were there.”

Anya squinted to see the paper in the dim light. It was a grainy photograph, timestamped. A still from CCTV footage. It showed an empty lot at the docks, with a woman getting out of a car. Her car. With her license plate. _Shit_.

“So,” Viktor laced his fingers together on the table. “Shall I ask you again?”

Anya couldn’t stop the trembling now. “I-I didn’t know,” she stammered, on the verge of tears. “I just ran the numbers, I’m an accountant for god’s sake I didn’t know what they were going to do!”

“Oh my dear, please don’t be upset,” Viktor said with a kind and soothing voice. “I understand. I believe you. Zavlov is notorious for deceiving his allies.”

Anya’s eyes went wide. “You… you already knew it was Zavlov?”

Viktor smiled kindly, but his eyes narrowed fiendishly. “I do _now_.”

Anya gaped in horror as she realised her mistake. It was such a simple trick, how could she be so stupid? She desperately clasped her mouth with both hands, as if by covering it she could somehow unsay what she had said. She was the weak link. Zavlov would find out and she was as good as dead. She could not stop the tears streaming down her face.

“No, Miss Anya! Please do not cry.” Viktor spoke with genuine concern in his voice. He took out a silk handkerchief and held it out to her. “I suspected Zavlov all along. I just wanted confirmation. Forgive me for deceiving you.”

Anya trembled and shuddered, but she slowly reached out to accept the offered handkerchief. There was no other way now. Perhaps if she helped Nikifirov he would be merciful. “I… I don’t know where they moved the drugs, they didn’t tell me. But I can make an educated guess. I know a few locations around the city.”

Viktor smiled at her. “That is very helpful. However, the shipment is a secondary concern at the moment. I am actually looking for a man.” Anya looked up at him, puzzled. “A man that Zavlov is hiding from me. His right hand man. Kostya.”

Anya shuddered at that name. She gripped the handkerchief tighter in her hands. “ _Kostya_?” She asked. And her voice was a mix of fear and venom. Viktor simply nodded. Anya dabbed at her eyes and straightened herself in her seat. “When you find him, will you kill him?”

Viktor’s eyes went dark. “Eventually.” He replied.

Anya told him everything she knew.

 

Yuri contentedly sipped his hot chocolate at the back of the café. Of all his little “missions”, this was one of the tamest, and he quickly became bored. He tried to listen, this information would help him avenge his father after all, but he could not stand idle chit chat and sobbing babies. He decided he’d get Viktor to give him a summary later.

Almost every day for more than two weeks Yuri had been the bait for the suckers that Viktor wanted to nab. Yuri assured Viktor that he could take care of himself but Viktor always had someone watching over him nearby for his protection. Especially when the target was the type of person that they knew was more than comfortable following a child into a dark alleyway.

The people that Yuri lured towards Viktor’s men met different fates depending on the circumstances. Half the time it was like this. Just one scary look and they squealed like babies. Those people were usually the ones that Viktor had no intention of bringing harm to in the first place, and so they went home intact. Other times the fools needed the answers beaten out of them. It was half to get the information they needed, and half a reminder to stay in line. Those ones went home battered, but alive. But on very special occasions, when there was a real scumbag who Viktor wanted off the streets, there was a special van that took them away with a bag over their head. When Viktor was there, he never let Yuri go with the van. He wanted to shelter him from the horrors or some shit, like the dumb old man he was. But when Viktor was _not_ there, Yuri did as he pleased. The dark, damp basement that the van lead to had all sorts of interesting tools, both rusted and new. Yuri learned a lot of things about both interrogation and anatomy in that little bloodstained room.

But today was a boring day and he decided to ditch early. He quickly drank the rest of his hot chocolate then wiped his mouth. He looked up at Georgi, who was staring at the woman talking to Viktor like some lovesick fool. “Georgi. Gimme a ride.”

Georgi snapped back to reality and looked down at Yuri, a little incredulous. “What?”

“Gimme a ride, dumbass. I’m bored, let’s go.” Yuri got out of his seat and headed for the back exit.

Georgi scowled at him. “I don’t take orders from you, you bratty little– “

“Georgi! Take Yura home, please.” Viktor called out.

Georgi sighed, defeated. “Yes, Mr Nikifirov.” He grabbed his coat and followed Yuri out to his car, but not before sparing one last, longing look towards Anya, the love of his life. She flipped him off.

 

 “I need groceries.” Yuri said, as he put on his seat belt. “Take me shopping first.”

Georgi threw his head back and groaned. “I’m not a slave, Yuri! I’m not your personal chauffeur! I am your elder and your superior and you will treat me with respect or _so help me god_ …”

Yuri took out his phone. “I’ll call viktor.”

Georgi glared at Yuri, then muttered profanities under his breath as he started the car and drove them to the super market. When they got there Yuri made Georgi go in with him and push the trolley while he filled it. Half the stuff was sensible supplies, the other half was sugary snacks. And of course, when they got to the check out, Georgi ended up paying.

Yuri noisily wolfed down a chocolate bar on the ride home. When they got to his place he left the wrapper on the passenger seat as he loaded his arms with the mountain of groceries. Georgi stared at the wrapper in disdain for a moment, then looked back at the small boy struggling with the overfilled bags. “Yuri do you need help with tha-“

“No.” Yuri said, kicking the door shut and walking to his house without another word. Not so much as a _‘see ya!’_ or a _‘Thanks Georgi!’_ But Georgi realised with a sigh that he was getting all too used to this. He shook his head and drove away.

“Grandpa, I’m home!” Yuri called out as he shut the door behind him. His cat ran up to him and started meowing and rubbing against his legs. Then she started scratching and sniffing at the bags of groceries. Yuri smiled, and crouched down to scratch behind her ears. “Clever girl, Potya! You know I got you some tuna!” He scooped her up and gave her a quick kiss before dragging all the bags to the kitchen.

“Yurotchka? Are you home?” Yuri’s grandfather called out. He sounded like he’d been asleep.

“I’m here, Grandpa!” Yuri replied as he put the food away.

“Yura! My boy. How was school?”

Yuri winced. “School was great!” He lied. He hadn’t been to school in weeks.

“Good, good…” Nikolai’s voice trailed off, as if he was drifting off to sleep again. Yuri went off to find him, knowing he’d be dozing off in his chair in the living room again. Sure enough he was in his chair, one hand holding an old framed photo on his lap of his son when he was a boy, the other dangling over the side of the chair, loosely gripping a nearly empty bottle of vodka. This had become a common scene since Anton had passed. Yuri walked up to his grandfather, kneeled down beside his chair and gently took the bottle out of his hand. Nikolai turned his head towards Yuri and used his now free hand to cup his grandson’s cheek. “It is good that you like school, Yura” He smiled softly. “Such a good, clever boy. I’m so proud of you.” Yuri placed a hand on top of his grandfather’s and squeezed it gently. He smiled warmly but his eyes were stinging.

“My Tosha did _not_ like school,” Nikolai said with a smirk. “He used to put dog poop on his teacher’s chair!” He chuckled heartily at that and Yuri couldn’t help but to giggle. But slowly Nikolai’s smile faded away, and he turned back to the photo on his lap. “My Tosha…” He sighed. He took his hand away from Yuri’s face and instead stroked the cheek of the boy in the photo. “My poor boy… My Tosha…”

He was asleep again, snoring quietly. Yuri gently took the photo frame out of his grandfather’s hands and returned it to the shelf of family photos. He grabbed the folded blanket next to the couch and draped it over him, then leaned over and kissed his forehead.

“Don’t worry dedushka,” Yuri whispered. “I’ll make them pay.”


	3. Family Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A family dinner is dinner with the family. Yakov and Lilia are in this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About a week ago I finished a 4.8k word chapter. Then I re-read it and it was all garbage. So I abandoned that and worked on this completely different 5k chapter. It sucks significantly less. Thank you for your patience <3

For the next three days Yuri didn’t see Otabek. He was only really needed when Otabek wanted to go out by himself. On the first day he went out with his mother to have lunch and visit a museum or two. On the second day they saw a ballet. Yuri was more than happy to not be present for any of that shit. On the third day they stayed in and rested. At this point they had moved out of the hotel and into Viktor’s mansion. Yuri wondered why they hadn’t just stayed in the mansion in the first place; it was bigger and more luxurious than any hotel. Viktor had explained it was to do with preparations, or something, he hadn’t listened. But on the evening of this third day Viktor was hosting a dinner party for his guests, and Yuri had been invited (ordered) to attend.

He arrived at the mansion having once again given no consideration to proper evening attire. At least under his jacket this time was a very plain, very unoffensive, long-sleeved grey shirt. He stomped unceremoniously into the living room where all the guests were being greeted. Everyone was seated in various lounging seats around a coffee table, chattering away. Viktor and his husband Yuuri Katsuki sat together in a loveseat, practically climbing on top of each other as they sang each other’s praises. Ms Altin and Otabek shared a couch, both of them poised and stoic, and across from them in individual arm chairs were Georgi Popovich and Dr Yakov Feltsman. Yakov had been working for the Nikifirovs since before Viktor’s time, and he was a trusted family friend. In the public eye he was a renowned and prestigious MD with a successful chain of clinics. In the underworld there was no better man to stitch you up after a fight. He was also the Nikifirov’s personal family doctor. Usually this position wouldn’t grant him a seat at the bratva leader’s table, but that had changed when Viktor came into power and fully acknowledged the man who had practically raised him.

Yuri headed toward the empty armchair between Georgi and Yakov. Katsuki perked up when he noticed Yuri and started waving at him. “Hi Yurio!” He called.

“Don’t call me that.” Yuri barked automatically, then slumped onto his seat.

“Oh, right. Sorry Yura.” Katsuki adjusted his glasses and looked away sheepishly.

Viktor pouted and put a protective arm around his husband. “Don’t be rude, Yura. Dinner hasn’t even started yet and I want you on your best behaviour.”

Yuri groaned and slumped further into his chair. He looked across the table towards Otabek. When they made eye contact Yuri waved at him and smiled. Otabek gave an almost imperceptible nod, then turned his attention back to Viktor. _Okay._ Yuri thought. _Is that normal for new friends?_ He wasn’t exactly an expert, but that had seemed sort of cold in his opinion. Maybe it was normal. Or maybe that night where he and Otabek had decided to be friends and spent hours talking together on a rooftop was all some sort of vivid hallucination. It would explain a lot, he figured.

After a short while their final guest arrived. Lillia Baranovskaya strode in with all the airs and dignity of royalty. Her burning eyes and intimidating scowl gave Yuri a run for his money, and her permanently furrowed eyebrows were probably filled in with the ashes of her enemies. Yuri then remembered what usually befell Lilia’s enemies and began to wonder if that might actually be true. Lilia was a retired prima ballerina who ran the most prestigious dance school in St Petersburg. She also ran all the brothels in the city. She was also Yakov’s ex-wife, and made a point of not acknowledging him. She did, however, acknowledge Yuri.

“YURI PLISETSKY.” She barked. Yuri winced. “We do not _SLOUCH_. Sit up, young man.”

“Yes, Ms Baranovskaya.” Yuri muttered, as he sat up in his seat. She was probably the only person in the world that he actually feared, and he prayed to god that no one would bring up that he used to attend her dance school.

Lilia tutted. “I weep for your ruined posture, Yuri. Now then Viktor, hurry up and introduce me.”

“Of course Ms Baranovskaya!” Viktor said as he rose from his seat. He walked up to Lilia and kissed her outstretched hand. “And might I say, you look absolutely stunning this evening.”

“Don’t waste my time, Viktor.”

“Right. Ms Altin, Ms Baranovskaya, I have been most eagre to introduce you to each other…”

 

At the dinner table, Yuri felt like a fish out of water. He honestly did not know what he was doing there. Viktor scowled when he took out his phone. Lilia scowled when he slouched. So he mostly just sat there being bored and uncomfortable. Viktor would occasionally prompt him to speak, but it would quickly fall flat. Otabek sat across the table from Yuri, but seemed to be actively ignoring him. It was infuriating. It seemed strange for Otabek to just straight up ignore him so Yuri thought he might just be paranoid. Or maybe Otabek was just weird. He hadn’t seemed weird when they talked the other night.

Yuri tried to remember everything he’d learned about Otabek. He had a little sister named Nursulu who was eight years younger than him. He loved her very much and lit up when he spoke of her. He loved and respected his mother. He hated his father. From what Yuri gathered, Otabek’s dad was the most evil cunt in the eastern hemisphere and the world was better of without him. Otabek loved art and classical music. Fucking nerd. He had a motorcycle that he liked to ride through the mountains. That was kinda cool. Apparently he was a trained boxer. That would explain his build, Yuri supposed. Rich people always find weird ways to keep fit. He loved his country and was very proud of it. He was well educated and well spoken, but he was humble and reserved. He thought deeply before he spoke. It was refreshing. There was a lot more to Otabek than met the eye, and Yuri wanted to know more. But now he was afraid he’d done something to make Otabek hate him already. Well, that was a brief friendship.

Otherwise, the dinner was going quite well. As Viktor had expected (and hoped), Lilia and Gulaisha got on like a house on fire. There was a bond between them shaped by the experiences of being women in the mafia. Both women had made revolutionary impacts in the Russian and Kazakh underworlds, and had fought tooth and nail for what they had. They admired each other’s achievements, and laughed together at the foolishness of the men who had preceded them.

“I don’t know how men are ever allowed to run businesses,” Lilia scoffed. “They are so greedy and short-sighted.”

“I know what you mean,” Gulaisha smirked. “I often think that most men are like bulls; only good for fighting and breeding.” Both women cackled, and even the men at the table snorted.

“I have half a mind to feel insulted, but I’m all too inclined to agree.” Viktor said between chuckles. “Yuuri, my love, do you remember that angry Yakuza boss from Tokyo?”

“Oh my goodness,” Katsuki said, suppressing his laughter. “He threw a tantrum and destroyed half the restaurant with a katana, all because my sister Mari beat him in an arm wrestle.” The table filled with laughter.

“Fortunately,” Said Lilia, sipping from her fourth glass of wine, “you have taught your son well, Gulaisha. In all my years I have never met such a lovely gentleman as young Mr Altin.” She proclaimed. “Such poise, intelligence and charisma, the future of the bratva in Kazakhstan is bright if it is to be left in his hands.”

Gulaisha beamed with pride. Otabek showed no change in his expression, but responded politely. “You flatter me too much, Ms Baranovskaya. I fear I don’t deserve such praise.”

“Ah, humility.” Lilia declared. “An excellent trait in a man of high calibre. You could learn something, Viktor.” She gave Viktor the side eye as she took another sip from her glass.

“I think it’s a bit late for him, Lilia.” Katsuki said with a smirk as he sipped from his own glass. Viktor clutched his heart, scandalised by his husband’s betrayal, but Yuuri pacified him with a kiss on the cheek and was instantly forgiven.

“I do lament for the Russian Bratva, however.” Lilia continued. “Certainly, Viktor has a hold of things for now, but the future is bleak.”

“Oh? How so?” Gulaisha inquired.

Viktor tried not to choke on his wine as he saw where this was going. “Oh, nevermind that!” He laughed, trying not to sound desperate. “She’s just exaggerating. Who wants dessert?”

“Well you see,” Lilia continued, completely ignoring Viktor, “poor Vitya has been trying unsuccessfully for the past few years to groom Yuri Plisetsky of all people into becoming his heir.”

Yuri froze in his seat. There was silence at the table. “I don’t believe this is the time or place to be discussing this, Lilia.” Viktor implored.

“Oh please, it’s not like it matters.” Lilia said, waving her hand dismissively. “It’s been an exercise in futility. Yuri has been consistently disappointing on all fronts.”

“I think that’s enough, Lilia.” Yakov suggested. “You’ve had too much wine.”

“Oh hush, Yakov. You’ve had too much _borscht_.” Lilia retorted, eyeing Yakov’s gut. He covered his belly reflexively. “You know it’s fitting that they call Yuri ‘the Tiger’, for he is little more than a mindless wild animal. With his ghastly behaviour, his frequent trips to prison and those horrendous tattoos he has absolutely _no_ prospects.”

“That’s _enough_ , Lilia.” Viktor snapped, his demeanour suddenly dark.

But Lilia payed no heed and rattled on. “No ambition, no connections, no _class_. The little fiend has slept with half the strippers in St Petersburg-“

Yuri stood up, and his chair made a deafening sound as it scraped along the floor. “ _Excuse me,”_ He spat, as he stormed out of the room. The table went deathly silent. Viktor rested his elbows on the table as he buried his face deep in his hands.

Yakov glared at Lilia. “What?” She asked him, as she indignantly finished her wine.

 

 

As he stormed down the hallway Yuri slammed every door he came across. _How could she?_ He thought. _Why would she say those things about me?_

But Yuri knew why. _Because they’re true._

Rather than process the thought, he grabbed the nearest object and smashed it into a wall. It was a vase. _Good._ He thought. It had been a while since he had destroyed one of Viktor’s stupid vases. He continued down the hallway, intermittently destroying random objects. He needed to get out. He needed air. The nearest exit was too far away. He went into the next room with a balcony. He slammed the door behind him, kicked over a small table and threw the glass balcony doors open, hearing them crack and break as they hit the wall. When he was finally outside he grabbed the stone balcony railing to steady himself. He tried to breathe deeply and slowly to calm himself down. It wasn’t working. He paced up and down from one end of the balcony to the other but that just agitated him further. He lit a cigarette and took a long, deep drag, hoping the nicotine would calm his nerves. He gripped the railing tightly and stared at the ground beneath. Don’t think about it, he urged himself. Don’t think. Don’t think.

The mantra wasn’t helping. He looked to his side and saw a large concrete planter. He knew it wasn’t attached to the railing so he immediately grabbed it and used all his strength to push it over the edge. As he watched it fall he thought that maybe the sound of smashing concrete and the sight of dirt splattered everywhere would give him an iota of emotional relief, but as it shattered on the pavement all it did was create a sinking feeling in his gut that he couldn’t escape. The anger seeped out of him and all that was left was sadness and shame. _This is stupid._ He thought. _This is so fucking stupid._ He folded his arms on the railing and rested his head on his forearms.

He remained like that for a minute or two until he heard someone opening the door to the room behind him. “Yuri?” They called out. Maybe if he didn’t respond they would go away. But to his lament he heard them approach the balcony. They stopped at the doorway. “Yuri.”

That was Otabek’s voice. He lifted his head and looked back over his shoulder. Otabek was standing there, deadpan as ever. “I came to see if you were okay.”

“Oh, so now you’re talking to me?” Yuri scoffed. He brought his cigarette to his mouth as he turned back to stare at the ground. Otabek approached and stood at the railing, a few feet away from Yuri.

“May I smoke with you?” He asked.

“I don’t fucking care.” Yuri barked.

It wasn’t a no, so Otabek pulled the silver cigarette case out of his breast pocket. He opened it and offered it to Yuri. “Would you like-“

“NO.” Yuri snapped, before Otabek could finish. So Otabek only took out a single cigarette and pocketed the case. After he was lit, and had taken a long, deep drag, he spoke again.

“I’m sorry I didn’t acknowledge you.” He said. Yuri didn’t react. A heavy silence lingered between them. “I owe you an explanation,” Otabek continued. “But… If I am honest I do not have one. Not really.” He took another deep drag as he gathered his thoughts. “When I am in a room with mafia leaders, or other people of power and influence, I have to act a certain way. I become a different person. I have to.” Otabek exhaled deeply. There was another long silence as he gathered his thoughts again. He hoped Yuri would be patient with him. “I also… struggle… with large groups of people. The combination of being surrounded by strangers, and being constantly mindful of my behaviour, was a little overwhelming. I didn’t know how to interact with you in that context. And so, I just… didn’t.” He took another drag. “But those are just excuses. If I’m honest I was just nervous.”

Yuri finally perked up at that. He whipped around to glare at Otabek with incredulity. “ _Nervous_? About fucking what? Talking to me?”

Otabek sighed. “It’s not something I can really rationalise.”

To Otabek’s surprise, Yuri started to chuckle. “So you are just fucking weird.” He said.

Otabek snorted. “Yeah I guess so.” The tension eased between them, and they fell into a relaxed silence. After a moment Otabek piped up again. “So once again I have to apologise for my behaviour towards you…”

“Yeah, yeah, forget it.” Yuri flicked his spent cigarette over the railing. “Just give me one of your fancy smokes.”

Otabek gladly retrieved his silver cigarette case again, relieved that Yuri no longer seemed upset with him. After Yuri was freshly lit, Otabek decided to risk bringing up an apparently touchy subject. “So, is it true that Mr Nikifirov wanted you to be his heir?”

Yuri groaned. “ _Wants_ me to be his heir. The dumbass hasn’t given up. I don’t know why he keeps trying, I don’t want that shit.”

“Does he know you don’t want that?” Otabek asked.

“Of course he knows! I tell him every single day and he doesn’t fucking listen to me. None of them do.” Yuri was losing his cool again. He started pacing around the balcony and flailing his hands around as he ranted. “Viktor, Lilia and Yakov keep trying to fucking groom me into being their mafia poster boy no matter how many times I tell them to fuck off!”

Otabek stood calmly by the railing. “Were you worried about disappointing them?”

“No!” Yuri shouted. “Why would I care about disappointing a bunch of dumb old fucks I never wanted to impress in the first place!? I’m not the one who made up all those stupid expectations! It’s not my fault I wasn’t GOOD ENOUGH!!” To punctuate his sentence Yuri landed a well placed kick on another concrete planter and sent it hurtling over the edge. This time the smash was satisfying.

He crossed his arms, took a deep breath and calmed down again. Then he rubbed his upper arms with his hands to warm himself. He wasn’t wearing his jacket and it was freezing outside.

Otabek looked over the railing at the destroyed planters. Then he looked back at Yuri who was starting to shiver. “It’s too cold out here. Let’s step inside the room.”

Yuri sighed. “It won’t do much good. I broke the fucking doors.

Otabek looked over at the balcony doors. Only a few small glass panels were missing. “It’s not too bad.” He said. “They will keep the worst of the cold out.”

Yuri was too cold to argue so he simply nodded and stepped into the room. Otabek stepped in after him and gently closed the doors behind him. As he did so more glass panels broke and fell out.

“Hmm.” He said.

Yuri chuckled and headed towards the couch. “Maybe I can tell Viktor that one was your fault.” He froze mid-stride as he felt something warm being draped over his shoulders. He was too startled by the sensation to react. It was smooth and cozy and smelled nice. It was Otabek’s blazer.

Otabek walked past Yuri and sat on the couch. “Come sit down.” He said. “Away from the draft.” Yuri stood for a moment like a deer in the headlights. Then he came to his senses and went over to the couch. He pulled the coat tighter around him as he sat down.

“They must see a lot of potential in you if they keep trying.” Otabek offered.

Yuri scoffed. “Not as much potential as you, apparently. You’re like my perfect polar opposite.” He sank into the couch.

“I’ve always wanted to be more like you.” Otabek said. Yuri gave him a sceptical look. “If I’m honest Yuri, I just do as I’m told. I feel like I’m riding on my mother’s coattails. I’m not humble, I’m just a fool who goes with the flow. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Yuri raised his eyebrows at that revelation and gave Otabek a wide-eyed stare. Otabek offered a simple smile. Yuri chuckled and let his head fall back. “So we’re both fucked.” Yuri said to the ceiling.

Otabek leaned back into the couch. “Mm. Probably.” He said.

Yuri appreciated Otabek’s apparent efforts to cheer him up, but Lilia’s words wouldn’t stop swirling through his head. He sighed as he stared at the ceiling. “At the very least Lilia has finally given up on me. It’s a relief, really. I won’t have to deal with her shit anymore.”

Otabek looked at Yuri sadly as he gazed dejectedly into the air. There was nothing he could say to help in this situation. It wasn’t his place to do so. Instead he brought up something he had been curious about. “She said you went to prison?” He asked.

Yuri snorted. “Yeah, but it was just juvenile detention. I went three times, for a combined total of less than six months. It’s laughable, really.”

Otabek was relieved. He’d heard plenty of horror stories about Russian prisons but was glad that Yuri seemed to have been spared the worst of it. “Is that where you got your tattoos?” He asked.

“Ew, no! You think I want Hep C? Besides, those jacked up teens couldn’t draw a tat to save their lives.” Yuri laughed and looked at his hands. “Nah. I got these done professionally.”

Otabek smiled and leaned over to get a better look. “May I see?” He asked.

“Oh yeah, sure.” Yuri turned towards Otabek and held out his hands with his fingers splayed to give him a better view. Otabek gently took both hands and lifted them towards his face so he could inspect them closely. Yuri hadn’t expected Otabek to actually touch his hands, but he didn’t protest.

Otabek studied the black lines on Yuri’s fingers. It was like jewellery made of ink. On every finger were black rings, and on every ring a different symbol. “These are traditional bratva prison symbols.” Otabek remarked. “I thought they stopped using this system in the 80’s.”

“Yeah, mostly.” Yuri said. “But I guess I’m like, a ‘romanticist’ or whatever. I tried to be as authentic as possible, but I took some liberties.” He said with a smirk.

Otabek smiled and began to mentally decipher the symbols. He had the thieves’ cross; a common tattoo amongst those in the mafia. Various anarchic symbols, representing a hatred and hostility towards authority and the police. A symbol marking him as a high ranking “officer” in the bratva. A symbol that meant he was good with weapons. Otabek had no doubt about that. On one finger he had a ring with a black cat, and on another finger a ring with a white cat. That one puzzled him a little. The tom cat was a common bratva thief symbol, but usually there was only one. “You have two tomcats?” He asked.

“Oh, no. The black one is the tomcat.” Yuri clarified. “The white one is _my_ cat, Potya. See?” Yuri smiled and wiggled his fingers to draw Otabek’s attention towards the Cyrillic letters along the second knuckles of his left hand, which spelled out “POTYA”.

Otabek chuckled. He’d been wondering what the word meant. “You tattooed your cat’s name on your knuckles?”

“ _Obviously._ ” Yuri scoffed. “After all, she’s the only woman I’ve ever loved.”

They both began to laugh. Otabek was delighted by this contrast in Yuri’s personality; the surly, hardened criminal, and the sweet young man who loved his cat. Then Otabek noticed another symbol on Yuri’s right hand, and his smile fell. He brought the hand closer to his face to make sure he had seen it correctly.

“This one means you killed someone in prison.” Otabek remarked.

Yuri’s hands tensed in Otabek’s grip. “Um. Yeah.”

Yuri slid his hands out of Otabek’s and placed them on his lap. He turned away from Otabek, avoiding his gaze. “I… I didn’t have a choice.” Yuri explained. “Juvi wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. But hey, I handled it.” He shrugged like it was no big deal, but he began to wring his wrists nervously. That was when Otabek noticed the black bands around his wrists. They had been covered by his sleeves before.

“Are those shackles?” He asked.

“Oh, yeah.” Yuri said, pulling up his sleeves a little to make both the shackles more visible. “They’re sort of a joke though.” Yuri said, smiling weakly. “You see, they’re supposed to indicate a life sentence in prison. But, uh, I fudged the meaning a little, so to me they mean my life sentence of commitment to the bratva.” He let out a strained chuckle as he looked back to Otabek.

Otabek however was not amused. The sadness on his face reflected the sadness in Yuri’s eyes. Yuri couldn’t face it so he turned away again. Otabek reached out and placed a firm hand on Yuri’s shoulder. “Yuri, there’s more to your life than just the bratva.” He said softly.

Yuri shook his head solemnly as he stared down at his wrists. “There really isn’t. How would you know anyway.” His voice was quiet and distant.

Otabek gently squeezed Yuri’s shoulder. Then he smiled. “At least you have Potya,” He said. “I’d love to meet her some day.”

Yuri snapped out of his downward spiral and chuckled. “Not a chance.” He said, smirking at Otabek. “She _detests_ the bourgeoisie.”

 

 

Viktor marched through the hallway leaning heavily on his cane. His bad knee always flared up when he was stressed. It had been a good half hour and no one had seen any sign of either Yuri or Otabek. Yuri was _his_ problem, but Gulaisha was starting to worry about her son. Viktor assured her he’d probably just gone to his room to rest. In the meantime it didn’t take him long to pick up on Yuri’s trail of destruction. He mentally commended himself on having most of the décor in the hallways replaced with fakes, after Yuri’s last rampage. When he reached the end of the trail Viktor wasn’t sure how to proceed. Had Yuri given up and gone home? Suddenly he heard laughter from a nearby room. That was strange. All these rooms should be empty. He walked up to the closed door and pressed his ear against it. Two people were talking and laughing together. One of them was Yuri. What on earth was going on? He turned the door handle and slowly opened the door.

It took him a moment to process what he was seeing. Yuri and Otabek were sitting next to each other on a couch, laughing like they’d just had the funniest conversation in the world. Otabek had his arm around Yuri. And was Yuri wearing Otabek’s blazer? On top of all this Viktor realised that in the last three days he had _never_ seen Otabek smile. He wasn’t sure he was capable of it, let alone such joyous laughter. And why wasn’t Yuri upset anymore? There was too much to process. What in the hell was going on?

Yuri and Otabek quickly noticed Viktor’s presence in the room and the laughter came to an abrupt stop. There was an awkward silence while Viktor gaped at them, speechless. Yuri turned away and kept his head down, letting his hair hide his face. Otabek slowly took his arm away from Yuri and rested his hand on his lap, his face once again stony and unreadable. “Mr Nikifirov.” He said.

Being directly addressed shook Viktor from his stupor. He straightened up and cleared his throat. “Mr Altin.” He said. “Your mother is looking for you.”

Otabek nodded and slowly rose from the couch. Yuri wordlessly shrugged off the blazer and handed it back to him, without looking up. Otabek took it, then leaned forward and placed his hand on Yuri’s shoulder. “Yuri, I plan on going out tomorrow. So, I’ll see you then?” He asked.

Yuri looked up at Otabek. “If your mother hasn’t already fired me.” He said glumly. “She must hate me by now.”

“She won’t fire you.” Otabek assured him. “I don’t want anyone else.”

Yuri smiled and nodded. Otabek put on his blazer and headed towards the door. He stopped in front of Viktor. “Thank you for the lovely dinner, Mr Nikifirov.” He said.

Viktor blinked and remembered his words. “Oh! Yes. My pleasure. Goodnight Mr Altin.” He extended his hand and gave Otabek a brief handshake. Otabek turned back to Yuri once again.

“Good night Yura.” He said.

“Good night Beka.” Yuri replied.

Then Otabek left, leaving Viktor to stare dumbfounded at Yuri, sulking on the couch. “Yuri, can we talk?” He eventually said as he walked closer.

“Do I have a choice?” Yuri grumbled, slumping in his seat.

“Well, no. Not really.” Viktor lowered himself into an armchair that was facing Yuri. He sighed and rubbed his knee, relieved to have the weight taken off it. “Dinner was, well, not great. _But_ , it wasn’t a complete disaster. Gulaisha is very understanding.”

“I’m sorry, Viktor.” Yuri said.

“Now I don’t… wait, what?” Viktor studied Yuri’s face for any sign of spite or sarcasm, but there wasn’t so much as a scowl.

“I…” Yuri started, then he sighed and folded his arms, leaning forward so he could stare at the floor. “I shouldn’t have stormed off like that. I figured it was better than making a scene. And I shouldn’t have broken all your shit. Again.” Yuri sighed again, then he propped his elbows up on his knees and rested his head in his hands. “I’ll clean it up. I don’t think I can pay for it though. I’m sorry.”

Viktor was stunned. “Wait, no it…” He reached a hand out to touch Yuri’s shoulder, then cursed himself for sitting so far away. He rested both hands on top of his cane and sighed. “It’s fine, Yura. Don’t worry about any of that. All I’m concerned about right now is whether or not you’re okay.” He was worried about Yuri. Lilia was known to shoot rapid-fire insults when she was tipsy but Viktor knew she’d crossed a line. He’d be having words with her when she sobered up.

Yuri sat up, resting his hands on his knees. “I’m fine.” He said. “I’m just tired. Can I go home?”

Viktor tried not to show how stunned he was. He’d never seen Yuri so vulnerable before. “Of course, Yura. Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

After Yuri left, Viktor stood in the torn apart hallway assessing the damage. His mind was still reeling from what he had just witnessed. What were the implications of all this? There was a lot to consider.

“There you are, Viktor!” Yuuri called from just down the hallway. He approached Viktor while cautiously avoiding debris. “Not as bad as last time. Pretty good actually. At least he didn’t use any weapons.” He said. When he finally reached his husband, his face fell with worry. “What’s wrong Vitya? You look shaken. Did something happen?”

“Yuuri!” Viktor said, grabbing his husband’s arms and pulling him close. “Oh Yuuri my love, my heart and my stars, you will not _believe_ what happened. I can scarcely believe it myself!”

“Vitya, calm down.” Yuuri cupped his husband’s face with his hands to soothe him. “Now, slowly. What happened?”

Viktor closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again he gave Yuuri a serious look, like he had something earth-shattering to say.

“Yurio… _apologised_ to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :0


	4. Tiger Cub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another flash of the past. Viktor and Tiny Yuri(TM) have a heart to heart as they prepare to face his father's killer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***GORY CHAPTER***  
> Things get a little Quentin Tarantino towards the end so heads up.
> 
> P.S. As I'm sure you've realised by now I don't have an update schedule.  
> But I HAVE updated so all you other Otayuri writers get on it. I want more fics to read too so stop bein selfish chop chop

**7 years ago**

Viktor gazed out of the darkened limousine window, deep in thought as they drove through the quiet streets that night. He was deeply troubled, being unsure of what to expect that evening. But he couldn’t let his uncertainty show. He needed to be at the top of his game; cool, collected and calculating. Any sign of weakness would be his undoing.

They had found Kostya; the man who had murdered Yuri’s father, along with half a dozen or so more of Viktor’s men. But before they could close in on him, Zavlov had snatched him back out of their reach, and offered a truce. He had called a meeting to negotiate the terms, and discuss a “peaceful solution”, as he had put it.

Naturally, Viktor didn’t trust the man as far as he could spit. Of all the rabid dogs in the city snapping at Viktor’s feet, waiting for him to slip and fall, Zavlov was the hungriest. He didn’t have the power and influence to oppose Viktor directly, but he had enough that Viktor couldn’t touch him either. For Zavlov represented the old guard, the original bratva, and however satisfying it would be for Viktor to remove the ever-present thorn in his side, doing so would be perceived as a spit in the face to almost half the gangsters in the city and they would surely turn on him. It was exhausting, constantly towing the line between progress and appeasement, but that was the price of power.

However, those concerns were a trifle compared to what weighed most heavily on his mind; the criminally delinquent street child Yuri Plisetsky. For the boy had made Viktor do something he hadn’t done in years: second guess himself. It had been a long time since he had doubted himself and his own decisions, and as the deadline for the consequences approached he felt the unfamiliar knot of uncertainty in his gut.

He sighed and turned his gaze to the boy sitting at the opposite end of the seat. Yuri was slouching deeply in his seat, arms folded tightly across his chest, glaring a hole into the front of the limo.

“I don’t understand why we can’t just fucking kill him.” He muttered.

“I wish it were so simple, Yura.” Viktor replied. “But these precarious situations require a certain finesse. You see, organised crime is a lot like politics-“

“Ugh! I don’t fucking care.” Yuri groaned, slumping further into his seat.

Viktor sighed and looked out of the window again. He rubbed his jaw and began to tap his foot nervously as he thought. He just couldn’t shake the doubt. After one more moment of fretting, he decided he couldn’t go through with it. He lifted his cane and used the end to rap on the dividing window behind the driver and get his attention.

“Slight change of plans.” Viktor told him. “Pull over.”

They had travelled in a convoy of three cars; an armoured SUV at the front and back with the limousine at the centre. The driver nodded and radioed the convoy to let them know. Yuri raised a puzzled eyebrow, then sat up in his seat.

“Viktor, what are you doing?” He asked, slightly alarmed.

“Yuri, listen.” Viktor started, knowing what he was about to say would not be well received. “I… I’ve changed my mind. You’re not coming to this meeting.”

“What!? No!” Yuri got up on his seat until he was almost leaning right over Viktor. “You fucking promised!”

“Once we pull over I’m getting Georgi to drive you home.” Viktor continued.

“No! I’m not leaving! Don’t you fucking ditch me!”

“Please, just listen-“

“You fucking bastard! You promised me! You piece of-“

“ ** _THIS ISN’T A FUCKING GAME!_** ”

Viktor winced, both at the sound and volume of his own voice, and the sight of Yuri recoiling from him in shock. Until now, he’d never raised his voice at Yuri. He rarely raised his voice at anyone, or used profanity. He hated to. It made him sound like his father. But this was his last chance, and Yuri needed to listen.

Viktor sighed deeply. He rubbed his face with his hands and took a second to collect himself. “Yura, I’m sorry. I just… Please listen, okay?”

Yuri didn’t respond. He just sat there silently, staring at Viktor. Viktor took this to mean that Yuri was listening so he continued.

“This… This isn’t a game. These people I’m about to meet? They are cruel, and twisted, and horrifying. This is a world too horrible for most _adults._ I don’t want you to be a part of this, Yuri.”

Yuri opened has mouth to protest but Viktor wouldn’t let him get a word in. “And I don’t care what you’ve already done and seen, this is _different_. Let Georgi take you home. I’ll support you and your grandfather financially. Go back to school. Live a normal life. _Please_ , Yura. You have a-“

Viktor was interrupted when Yuri’s small, angry fist hit his arm hard.

“OW! JEEZ!” He rubbed the new sore spot on his upper arm and turned to scold Yuri, but stopped when he saw tears streaming down the boy’s face.

At that moment there was a knock on the window. They had pulled over and Georgi had exited the lead car to come and check on his boss. Viktor lowered the window halfway.

“Are you okay, sir?” Georgi asked, peering into the limo.

“I’m fine. We just need a minute. Thank you, Georgi.”

Georgi looked puzzled, but simply nodded and stepped back. Viktor closed the window and turned back to Yuri, whose face was contorted with anger and sadness.

“You asshole…” Yuri said softly, his voice on the edge of breaking. “You promised me…”

Viktor sighed sadly and gazed down into his lap. “I know. And I never should have made that promise to you. It was selfish and arrogant, I don’t know what I was thinking. I should have sent you home the first day I met you. I never should have brought you this far…” He slumped over and cradled his head in his hands.

“God, Yuri, please forgive me.” He shuddered as shame and regret washed over him from head to toe. How could he have willingly brought a child into all this?

Yuri punched him in the arm again.

“OW!” Viktor was shocked out of his self-loathing by the pain. “Stop that! It’s going to bruise!” He pouted as he clutched his aching arm.

“No! I won’t forgive you!” Yuri snapped. “I need to see him, Viktor! I need to look into that bastard’s eyes!”

Viktor sighed and looked out the window. Georgi was starting to look worried, along with a couple more of Viktor’s men who had gathered to investigate. He turned to Yuri again, still clutching his arm. “If you go to this meeting with me, you could die.”

“I don’t care.” Yuri muttered.

“Don’t say that!” Viktor snapped. “At the very least, I can promise you that you will never have a normal life again.”

“What part of my life is fucking normal Viktor?” Yuri spat incredulously.

“I’m saying you still have a _chance_ at a normal life!” Viktor pleaded. “You’re still young, you’re not in too deep yet. You can escape this hell. Do you have any idea what I would give to…” Viktor paused as he felt his voice waver. He closed his eyes, took a breath and regained his composure. “Don’t be so quick to throw that away, Yura. Stay here. I’ll see you later.”

Viktor turned to open the door but Yuri stopped him by grabbing his lapel. He gripped the fabric tightly, but not out of malice. He needed something to cling to, to brace himself. Viktor looked into Yuri’s tear-filled eyes.

“He wouldn’t have been in that warehouse if it wasn’t for you.” He said shakily.

Viktor’s eyes widened. Yuri was talking about his father. “I know Yuri, I’m so sorry-“

“Shut up and listen!” Yuri snapped. “He wanted to help you. He knew you were trying to fix this shithole city, that’s why he transported all those drugs to the furnace for you. He helped you burn them! Do you know how hard that must have been for him? Because he… he…” Yuri’s voice faltered and trailed off.

Viktor placed a comforting hand on Yuri’s shoulder. “Because he was an addict.” Viktor finished for him. Everyone knew. It wasn’t in any way a secret.

Yuri nodded and turned his gaze downward. “He wasn’t perfect, I know that. He and grandpa would fight all the time, about his job and his addiction and him not being around pretty much ever. Grandpa mostly raised me by himself while Dad was god knows where. But…”

Yuri lifted his head and tugged Viktor towards him. “But he was trying! He was doing better, spending more time at home, he and grandpa had stopped fighting. That night, before he left, he told us this was his last job and then he was leaving the mafia. Everything was going to be… to be better…”

Yuri fell forward and Viktor froze, startled, as the boy’s head landed on his chest. Yuri began to sob softly, and Viktor tentatively placed a hand on his back in an awkward embrace. He wasn’t used to this sort of thing.

“I was just starting to get him back.” Yuri said weakly between sobs. “Don’t you understand? He just wanted a second chance. He wanted to be better.”

Viktor’s heart sank in his chest. He leaned forward and put his arms around Yuri with more certainty. “I’m so sorry Yura.” He whispered.

After a moment Yuri stopped trembling and his breathing evened out. He sat up and wiped his eyes with his sleeves. “But that bastard, _Kostya_ …” Yuri started. The anger that had seeped out of him came flooding back as he spat the name. He began to snarl as he spoke. “He took that from him. He took that from us! And Grandpa… his heart is broken and there’s nothing I can do.”

He placed his hands firmly on Viktor’s shoulders and fixed him with a steely, determined gaze. “I need to see him Viktor. I need to understand. I need to look into the eyes of the man who took everything from us.”

Viktor returned Yuri’s intense gaze and weighed his options. The boy was in every sense a child, brash and immature and overly emotional. But in other ways he was far too grown up. The courage and ferocity in his eyes were something Viktor rarely saw even in grown men. The look on Yuri’s face made it clear that the only way he was going home was if someone knocked him out, tied him up and threw him in the trunk. Viktor considered that option for a long moment.

He dropped his gaze and let out a deep sigh. Then he reached out and grabbed Yuri’s upper arms firmly. The boy flinched in his grip. From this position he could shake the small boy like a ragdoll if he wanted to. He sat him up straight and ensured he had his undivided attention, fixing him with his most authoritative glare.

“You listen to me,” he said sharply, “and you do _exactly_ as I tell you. When we get there, you will not make a sound. Got it?”

Yuri’s eyes widened at the sudden change in tone. He nodded.

“Keep your hood up and your head down. Do not look at anyone. Do not speak under any circumstances. Do not even _sneeze_ without my permission. Stay glued to Georgi. If you are ever more than an _inch_ away from him, if you put _one toe_ out of line, I’m sending you straight home. And if we tell you to run, you _run._ Do you understand?”

Yuri looked dumbfounded trying to process all the instructions and nodded weakly.

“ _Do you understand!?”_ Viktor repeated more harshly, giving Yuri a brisk shake.

“Yes!” Yuri answered quickly, snapping out of his stupor.

Viktor narrowed his gaze as he searched Yuri’s eyes for any sign of defiance or uncertainty. Satisfied, he nodded and released his grip on the boy. He turned to his window and lowered it. Georgi was rubbing his hands together to warm them as he stood out in the cold. Hearing the window open he turned towards it and peered inside. “Sir, what’s going on? Is there a change in plans? What’s wrong?”

Viktor raised a hand and shook is head. “Sorry for making you worry, Georgi. Nothing is wrong. We are continuing as planned. I’ll talk to you when we get there. Thank you.”

Viktor’s words did not put Georgi’s mind at ease and he continued to look worried. The few other men standing around did not look convinced either, but they knew better than to argue. “Yes, sir.” Georgi said with a nod, and they all returned to their vehicles.

Viktor closed the window again and turned to Yuri. He was slightly hunched over, bracing himself on his knees. He was a little unsteady, but he was determined. Yuri’s determination eased the tension in Viktor’s gut ever so slightly, but he was still uncertain. He had no idea if he’d made the right decision. They spent the rest of the trip sitting in silence.

A few minutes later they arrived at the dilapidated building where the meeting was to take place. The whole neighbourhood they were in was a mess of abandoned buildings and unfinished construction work. This was Zavlov’s territory. Viktor mentally referred to it as the rodents’ nest; plenty of dark holes for pests to lurk in. It suited the man, Viktor thought.

Once they were parked Viktor turned to Yuri again to give him one last run down of the rules. “Remember. Hood up, head down. Stay close. Don’t look anyone in the eye and don’t make a single sound. Got it?” Yuri firmly secured his hood and nodded briskly, taking Viktor’s instructions to heart.

Georgi walked up to the limo and opened the door for Viktor. As Viktor stepped out he told Yuri to wait for a moment. He put his arm around Georgi’s shoulders and whispered instructions to him. When Georgi nodded in affirmation, Viktor turned and gestured for Yuri to join them.

A few men stayed behind to guard the cars while the rest walked across the empty lot to the small red door at the base of the concrete building. Two guards sat on crates on either side of the door, illuminated by the barrel fires they’d set up to fight the cold, and a single white porchlight. Although they were the only two men visible, Viktor was certain they were being watched from every angle, surrounded by peering eyes lurking in the shadows.

When they passed through the door they were forced to walk single file down the dark, narrow hallway. Georgi draped his arm over Yuri’s shoulders, pulling him in close as they walked side by side. In any other situation Yuri would have vehemently protested, but at that moment he was thankful to have Georgi looking out for him (though he would never admit it). Simply walking past the door guards had been nerve wracking. Forcing himself to keep his head down and his mouth shut had been harder than he thought. His usual response to a threat was to lash out, and this place reeked of danger. The dark, quiet hallway lined with flickering lights only heightened his anxiety. He briefly wondered if he should have listened to Viktor and gone home, but he quickly shook away the thought, letting anger give him courage.

Viktor, who was leading the group, took a moment to glance down at the cane in his hand. He had different canes for different occasions and purposes and this one he believed was most apt for the situation. The wooden shaft was coated in black lacquer with a silver cap at the base, and the handle was a solid piece of silver shaped into a beautifully detailed wolf’s head. It was a not so subtle reminder of his title and status, for when he inherited the position of The Don from his father, he also inherited the name of “The Silver Wolf”. The arrogance of the piece was not lost on Viktor, but humility rarely served his purposes.

The hallway finally opened out to a small room where a group of Zavlov’s men were waiting to check them for weapons. Much to Viktor’s chagrin they would not be permitted to wear their coats, which troubled him as Yuri was forced to relinquish his hoodie; the only thing protecting his identity. Nevertheless, they all submitted themselves to the search, being patted down from head to toe. The glorified security spent a while inspecting Viktor’s cane, apparently trying to determine if it was somehow secretly a cane-sword. Viktor smirked at the idea. Even _he_ wasn’t pompous enough to have such a ridiculous weapon. Besides, he found that canes were more effective as blunt instruments. When the expensive wooden stick was deemed safe and returned to him the group was led to another door which opened to a stairwell, leading down into the basement.

The basement itself had very few working lights, so to compensate a circle of construction lights had been arranged at the centre of the room. The centre of the circle was illuminated with a cold, harsh light, but everything beyond that was hidden in shadows. At the far end of the lit portion of the circle was Zavlov, sitting on a veritable throne of wooden crates, a small posse of men gathered on either side of him. He sat hunched over with his arms resting on his knees, looking up as his guests approached. His grey, thinning hair was slicked back with grease, his face ravaged by both age and violence, and his splotchy stubble and thin lips framed his wonky teeth as he sneered. He truly was the slimiest creature Viktor had ever met, and the mere sight of him made his skin crawl. But he was the picture of composure as he took his position at the opposite side of the circle, his own posse of men gathering on either side of him with Yuri and Georgi immediately to his right, slightly behind him.

Zavlov straightened in his seat and opened his arms wide as he greeted his guests. “Well well, his majesty finally decided to grace us with his presence!” He sneered. “What’s wrong, Viktor? Couldn’t find a purse to match your shoes?”

Viktor rolled his eyes as Zavlov and his men snickered and chuckled. “It’s nice to see you too, Zavlov.” Viktor said, the tone of his voice implying the exact opposite was true.

“Who’s your little pet?” Zavlov inquired with a smirk as he immediately honed in on Yuri, who was struggling to keep his eyes downcast.

“New hire.” Viktor rattled off casually. “Don’t mind him.”

Zavlov leaned forward and placed a thoughtful hand under his chin as he looked the child over. “A boy like that is worth a _lot_ on the black market. Any chance you will sell him to me?”

Georgi grimaced and immediately stood in front of Yuri, blocking him from Zavlov’s view.

Viktor tightly gripped his cane. “I’m afraid not.” He stated, his tone cold and dark. “Now are you going to continue wasting my time or can we get on with it?”

Zavlov leaned back and threw his hands up passively. “Yes, yes, fine. Let’s get this nonsense over and done with.” He gave a signal and some of his men began to approach from the darkness. A man with his arms bound behind his back and a bag over his head was being escorted on either side by two men towards the centre of the circle. Once he was kneeling, one of the two men removed the bag from his head and they both disappeared into the shadows once again.

The moment the bag was off his head, Kostya let out a long, loud yawn, as if he’d just been woken from a pleasant nap. He blinked as he looked around, and as soon as he saw Viktor he gave him his biggest shit-eating grin. “Vityaaaa! Did you miss me?” He said with a wink. “I’d give you a hug but I’m a little incapacitated.” He leaned over to reveal his tied-up hands, wiggling his fingers for emphasis.

Zavlov and his men began to laugh at the childish display. Viktor stared silently at Kostya for a moment, then returned his attention to Zavlov. “What are your terms for his surrender?” He asked flatly.

Kostya pouted. “Aww, you’re no fun Vitya. Don’t you want to catch up first? I know you’ve been _dying_ to see me.” He said with a smirk.

While Viktor remained calm and collected, Georgi was seething with barely contained anger, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth. Yuri, who was right behind them, had to peer through the small gap between them, staring wide-eyed at the man he had been searching for. There he was at last, kneeling before them, with his coiffed brown hair and short-trimmed beard, his black dress shirt that was open at the top showing the silver chain dangling from his neck. His sharp, hazel eyes brimming with confidence and his perfect white teeth framed by a cocky smirk.

Yuri’s first reaction was shock, followed immediately after by a deep, strong hatred. He wanted to kill him. He _needed_ to kill him. The urge was almost overwhelming. But even if he were to attempt something now, what could he possibly do? He had no weapons, he couldn’t shoot or stab him. He was small and weak so there was no way he could physically overpower him. Punching and kicking would do nothing, and strangling him would be virtually impossible. As he watched Kostya laugh and smirk he began to tremble with rage and frustration. He was completely powerless.

“I don’t think you appreciate the position you are in, Kostya.” Viktor said.

“Oh, please!” Kostya laughed. “You can’t do _shit_ Viktor. I’m untouchable. This little show is to make you _feel_ better.” He shifted his position so he was sitting cross legged on the floor. “Uncle, how much longer do I have to do this? It’s freezing down here!”

“Now, now, Kostya.” Zavlov said with a smirk. “Mr Nikiforov came all the way from his mansion just to see us. We have to follow protocol, so be polite.”

Kostya sighed and threw his head back. “Well get on with it then. I’m fucking bored.”

Zavlov chuckled. “Very well then. You asked what my terms were, Viktor. However, I would like to suggest a more mutually beneficial venture.”

Viktor sighed. “Spit it out then. I haven’t got all night.”

“A trade.” Zavlov suggested. “The drugs we removed from your warehouse in return for Kostya’s freedom.”

“So you confess to stealing from me?” Viktor said. “You know I do not tolerate insubordination.”

Zavlov chuckled again. “Relax, Viktor! Besides, you can hardly blame me. You know, most of the other bosses would side with me in this situation. Not everyone supports your little ‘clean up the streets’ campaign. You’ve cut a large chunk out of our profits. It’s laughable that you snub the dirty work that pays for your silk suits.” Zavlov’s brow furrowed as he spat the words.

“But, I digress.” He said, leaning back in his seat. “We will relinquish the merchandise and suffer the blow to our wallets, and you pardon Kostya of all transgressions. It’s a win-win. You get to keep playing Robin Hood and our beloved Kostya can continue his excellent work for me. If anything, you’re getting the better end of the bargain! Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Hey!” Kostya protested with a pout.

Viktor sighed. The bargain was exactly what he suspected it would be. The worst part was that Zavlov was right; Viktor desperately wanted to keep those narcotics off the streets, and the suffering of the most vulnerable citizens in the city was not worth exacting revenge upon a single man. But there was more to consider here. Kostya was Zavlov’s most effective foot soldier, and taking him out would be a significant blow to Zavlov’s productivity and the morale of his men. Allowing him to go unpunished would open the door to greater acts of insubordination, and most likely an eventual coup. That would lead to countless deaths. Not to mention, his promise to Yuri…

“Theft is not the only transgression we must address, Zavlov.” Viktor said. “There’s also the matter of my murdered men.”

Kostya groaned and rolled his eyes. Zavlov sighed. “It was a simple misunderstanding, Viktor. I sent Kostya over to negotiate, and things got a little… out of hand.” He said with a smile. “Besides, it was only five men.”

“Seven men.” Viktor corrected. “And what do you expect me to tell the families of those men?”

Zavlov threw his hands up and shrugged. “Occupational hazard?”’ He offered.

“Oh, come _on_ Viktor.” Kostya chuckled. “It’s not like it was anybody important. If anything I did you a favour by disposing of those incompetent fools.”

Viktor’s brow lowered in contempt. “Let’s say I agree. Then what? You just promise not to do it again? Am I supposed to take you at your word?”

“It was just one little slip up.” Zavlov said. “No one wants a gang war, Viktor. Kostya promises to behave himself from now on. Don’t you Kostya?” Kostya pursed his lips and fluttered his eyelashes, feigning the picture of innocence.

“That’s not good enough.” Viktor said.

Kostya groaned in annoyance. “For God’s sake Viktor, just take the fucking deal.” He said. “You can’t touch me in here, and I’m not coming with you out there because we all know you’re too much of a bleeding heart pansy to pass this deal up. Isn’t that right?” He sneered.

Viktor took a deep breath to compose himself. “I do not-“

“Wait a minute.” Kostya interrupted. “Who’s that you’ve got there?”

Viktor glanced behind him to where Yuri was supposed to be standing, then did a double take when he wasn’t there. Georgi searched for him too, and saw that while they had been focused on Kostya, Yuri had moved out from behind them and was now standing in full view of everyone. He glared at Kostya, his fists trembling.

“I didn’t know you were into little boys, Vitya.” Kostya smirked. There was a chorus of laughter behind him.

Viktor grabbed Georgi’s shoulder. “Take him home. _Now_.” He muttered quickly and quietly.

Georgi reached over and put his hands on Yuri’s shoulders. “Yuri let’s go.” He whispered.

Yuri didn’t take his eyes off Kostya as Georgi pulled him away. He bared his teeth and snarled as Kostya smirked at him.

“Ooh! What a scary face!” Kostya teased. “Hey Uncle, you know who he reminds me of? Anton Plisetsky.”

Yuri froze. Georgi urged him to move and quickened their pace towards the stairs. “You must be Yuri!” Kostya called out. “Hey kid, your dad and I used to be pals! Until that fucking coward joined the Nikiforovs.”

And in that moment, Yuri knew he had one last weapon left to him. “Yuri NO!” Georgi hissed as Yuri wrenched himself free of his grip.

“Hey, remember what we used to call him Uncle?” Kostya continued, unaware of what was happening in the shadows beyond the circle. “We called him ‘The Snow Leopard’. You know why?” He asked, the men behind him chuckling with anticipation. “Because that crackhead always had his face buried in a mountain of white powder-“

Yuri roared with all the pain, anger and hatred in his body as he charged towards Kostya and tackled him to the ground. Kostya grunted, shocked and winded as he landed on his side. Yuri wasted no time, holding Kostya’s head still as he brought his face to his neck and bit down, harder than he’d bitten anything in his life. Kostya thrashed and screamed and writhed underneath him, unable to fight him off with his bound hands but Yuri was relentless, refusing to let go. In a matter of seconds, hot blood was spurting into Yuri’s mouth as he tore through the jugular. Yuri fought against the disgust as he continued to pry the flesh away from Kostya’s neck with his teeth. Suddenly a pair of hands grabbed Yuri’s torso and yanked him away, but the damage was done. As he was torn away from Kostya, he brought with him a piece of the man’s neck between his teeth. Before he could be taken too far away, Yuri spat the warm, bloody piece of flesh into Kostya’s shocked and terrified face.

After prying Yuri away from Kostya Georgi held the writhing boy in his arms, standing there dumbfounded as he realised the full extent of the horror that had occurred. Kostya thrashed and screamed and rolled on the floor, the blood spurting from his neck in fountains and spreading around him in pools. Yuri writhed in Georgi’s arms, his eyes wild and bloodthirsty as he clawed desperately towards Kostya, like a savage beast who was not yet finished with his kill.

“Georgi!” Viktor shouted, snapping Georgi out of his stupor. “Take him! NOW!” Georgi fought off his own shock so he could follow the order. He wrestled with the boy to drag him out of the circle, then threw him over his shoulder and carried him away. The men who hadn’t gone to Kostya to try and help him looked on in horror at the ghoulish, screaming boy whose mouth and chin dripped with blood and whose eyes glinted with mindless savagery. He continued to thrash and scream as he was dragged away and could still be heard long after he was out of sight.

Kostya himself was still thrashing and screaming out of panic and pain. “UNCLE! HELP ME! HELP ME!” He screeched as he rolled helplessly in his own blood, his panicked throes only making him bleed faster. Zavlov’s men grabbed Kostya to pin him down and stop him from writhing and tossing about. Zavlov was kneeling by his nephew’s head, pressing a handkerchief against the gaping wound in his neck in a vain attempt to stop the profuse bleeding.

“Calm down Kostya! I’m here! Your Uncle is here! I’ll take you to a doctor! You need to lie still! Lie still Kostya!”

“HELP ME UNCLE! HELP ME!” Kostya continued to struggle and scream with mindless panic, but gradually his movements slowed and his voice grew quieter and quieter, until he finally stopped altogether. Konstantin Yassenovich Zavlov lay dead on the basement floor, brutally murdered by a vengeful child.

As Viktor watched the sudden and violent scene unfold he was not shocked or horrified, but nor did he look on with cold indifference. Watching Yuri commit such an act of savagery filled him only with sadness. There was nothing he could do now. The boy could not be saved. The best he could hope to do was watch over Yuri now, in some vain attempt to ease his guilt. But even as his heart broke for the boy turned monster, the businessman in Viktor could not help but see an opportunity. It was moments like this where he felt truly slimy, but over the years he’d mastered the art of the selective conscience.

“Kostya? _Kostya?_ ” Zavlov whispered to his lifeless nephew, his glassy eyes staring unseeing at the concrete ceiling. Zavlov clenched his blood stained fists, clutching at the fabric of Kostya’s shirt. He looked up at Viktor, his face contorted with anger and grief. “You killed my nephew…” He snarled. “You killed my Kostya!”

“SHUT UP.” Viktor snapped, slamming his cane into the ground with a deafening _bang_ for emphasis. Everyone in the room was startled into silence and stillness.

“Kostya sealed his own fate when he killed that boy’s father.” Viktor spat, with not an ounce of compassion in his voice. “Now then, about my stolen shipment…”

Zavlov trembled with hatred as he glared at Viktor in disbelief. “The deal is off you bastard!”

“There never was a deal you fool.” Viktor said as he approached the centre of the circle, careful to avoid stepping in blood. “You will return the shipment to me, and you will do it because I _tell_ you to.” Viktor stated as he stood above Zavlov, both hands resting regally on his cane. “And I will _not_ tolerate any further insubordination. Do you understand?”

Zavlov continued to silently glare, the hatred inside him threatening to boil over, but he began to falter as he realised he had no bargaining chips left.

Viktor slammed his cane into the ground again, startling Zavlov out of his thoughts.

“ _DO YOU UNDERSTAND?_ ” The Silver Wolf barked.

Zavlov clutched Kostya’s body tightly as he bowed his head.

“Yes, Mr Nikiforov.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry there was no Otayuri this chapter but I'll make it up in the next one ;)


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